


Wrecking Ball Through Your Eyes

by mandalora



Series: Suture Up Your Future [2]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: (maybe), 160k of blood sweat and tears went into establishing this relationship, Domestic Old Men In Love, Established Relationship, Fluff, I lied: there is some angst but it’s like. necessary and inevitable, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Porn with Feelings, THAT IS A WELL EARNED TAG, so now I'm gonna have some fun ok, that's it that's literally all it is
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2020-06-25 20:05:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19752886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandalora/pseuds/mandalora
Summary: A dump of random one shots and drabbles all taking place after the events of suyf in the same universe that may or may not be in continuous or chronological orderYou can safely expect no overarching plot, tooth rotting fluff, very probably lack of seriousness down the line and possibly some crack and overall just loads of shameless self indulgence because now that suyf is done I finaLLY FUCKING CANEdit: Actually, never mind—Emily Drexel Lela Kaldwin I has entered the chat and yall know what that means





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Direct continuation after the end of suyf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) finally
> 
> Ok um I seriously did not intend for this to get this long but these fuckers have their own agenda by this point which I can do absolutely nothing about, I don't make the rules

“You’re really here.”

“Yes. I am.”

They stayed like that, pressed against one another, tightly wound in each other’s arms, and neither of them cared—or, at least, Corvo didn’t—about how long they were standing there.

How could they possibly care? They had all the time in the world—a concept that was so strange, so odd, one that Corvo would need time to fully get to grips with. There was no deadline, there was no time limit, there was no danger of discovery or lethal harm or problems looming ahead; there was nothing but this little house with its incredible propane tank in the middle of a snow field on the outskirts of a forest with a train station nearby; there was nothing but the little wooden figures and the little iron stove and the books and the subtle leftover smell of dinner that must have been cooked a couple hours ago. There was nothing but Daud and the delightful surreal reality of feeling his physical presence, right here, right now.

There was nothing but them. 

It was both intoxicating and sobering at the same time, and all Corvo really knew right then was the warmth that spilled in his chest when Daud leaned slightly away and fixed his eyes on him.

Actually, he never even took them off Corvo in the first place.

His face was so close and Corvo could feel his own breath reflecting against his skin. It was a little ticklish, he smiled and brushed his lips over Daud’s slightly prickly jaw, pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. 

He felt like the happiest man alive when Daud smiled back and returned a soft peck of his own before leaning away again and brushing a few strands from Corvo’s forehead. 

A moment or two later, and his hand slipped more fully into Corvo’s hair and the latter leaned into the touch like a cat. All the fond memories of Daud playing and fiddling with his hair back on the _Dreadful Wale_ came rushing in and Corvo gently pushed them away. He didn’t want to be stuck in his memories, he had no more need of it. He had everything right here.

Daud was carding softly through Corvo’s hair and arranging it in some way, a look of casual, easy concentration on his face, and Corvo wondered what he was arranging in the first place, seeing as his hair was about as short as it was the last time they saw each other. Maybe Daud saw something different now, maybe he was trying to get used to the grey shade.

Corvo didn’t get to ask, as Daud broke the silence first.

“Your hair’s still damp. Wear a hat next time, genius,” he murmured, the words soaked in nothing if not affection.

“I don’t even own any hats,” Corvo replied.

Daud softly clicked his tongue. “I just can’t believe you came to Tyvia in the middle of winter in that thin flimsy coat and without a hat. You really just up and went, did you?”

“Look, I didn’t think it was gonna be this cold. It’s pretty damn warm in Gristol right now—”

“Uh-huh. Corvo, that’s half an ocean away.” Corvo rolled his eyes blithely and Daud’s lips stretched into a wry smile before he said, “Come on,” took Corvo by the hand and led him out of the room and further into the house.

The next room they ended up in was, as expected, the bedroom, the majority of which space was taken up by a decently-sized bed. It looked big and comfortable, and suddenly Corvo wasn’t sure if he truly was tired or if the sight alone of an inviting bed with a thick knit blanket after a long journey naturally conjured up drowsiness.

In the meantime, Daud took a moment to pull out a small towel from one of the drawers of a dresser and tossed it to Corvo. 

“Here,” he said, “dry off.”

“It’s not even that bad,” Corvo scoffed but put the towel to use nonetheless. “And almost dry anyway.”

Daud grunted something under his breath, still fiddling with something in the drawer, and Corvo came closer to stand next to him. On top of the dresser, among other things, was another wooden figure—this one an eagle-owl.

Daud sure liked to collect wooden figurines. 

Corvo picked up the owl as he absently rubbed the back of his head with the towel. The owl fit so well in his hand, the sanded wood smooth and pleasing to the touch. One of the ear tufts had been broken off, once—there was a seam where it had been glued back. 

“Where’d you get all these?” Corvo asked with an easy smile of wonder, thumbing the curves and ridges of the feathers on the wing. He especially liked how the convexities smoothened down to carved patterns mimicking texture where the wood was more thinned out towards the bottom. 

Daud hummed questioningly and then turned his head to look. “Oh, those.” He shrugged dismissively. “I made them.”

“You made them?!”

“Uh. Yeah. It’s,” Daud very briefly cringed and gave a small, just as dismissive shake of his head. “It’s pretty bad.”

“It’s _wonderful.”_

Daud made a small noise in the back of his throat like he didn’t want to be praised and made a move to reach out towards the owl but Corvo teasingly turned away and pressed it to his chest. Then he looked at it again, turning it this way and that, trying to take in as much detail as he could.

“It’s wonderful, you hear me?” he said again and nodded in approval when Daud grunted out a reluctant _thanks._ “How long have you been doing this?”

“Well... Started back in the day, near Pradym. Then picked it back up when I settled here. So, several years, at least.”

Corvo hummed in response, running his thumb gently over the beak. “How long do these take you?”

“Depends.”

“Well, approximately?”

Daud clicked his tongue. “It depends, I said. Several hours. A day. Several days. I don’t know.”

“Wow. A few hours? That’s actually pretty fast, it seems like. How long did this owl take you?”

At this point Daud breathed a light laugh. “Dry your hair, Corvo.”

“Tell me!”

“It’s a few years old, I don’t remember.”

Corvo made a point to narrow his eyes at Daud but soon dropped the teasing act. “Well, I like it.”

Daud let out another chuckle, and in the next moment snaked an arm around Corvo’s waist and pulled him towards himself, using the element of surprise to pluck the owl out of Corvo’s hand and place it back in its spot on top of the dresser. “Alright.” 

Daud was suddenly so tantalizingly close and Corvo smiled, then hummed softly when the other captured his lips.

The kiss ended too quickly—or at least it felt that way. Corvo was starting to wonder whether Daud was doing that on purpose when the man took the towel that was still hanging around his neck and began to rub Corvo’s hair with it.

“Gotta do everything yourself around here,” Daud grumbled and Corvo grinned, raising an eyebrow. His smile widened even more when the contact soon grew from mechanical to something more deliberate, attentive, and even tender; something more akin to massaging. It felt nice and quite relaxing; Corvo’s eyes fell closed when Daud pressed and kneaded the tension spots on the bottom of his skull, the nerve stimulation sending goosebumps down his arms.

Corvo cracked open one eye when Daud kissed the tip of his nose. As soon as their eyes met, Daud tugged on the towel still hanging from his head, pulling Corvo in and locking their mouths together once more, making him hum into the kiss again in part joyous surprise part pleasure. And just as Corvo’s body began to relax almost to the point of subtle lightheadedness, and the gentle lapping of Daud’s tongue against his and Daud’s hand in his hair pushed all thoughts out of his mind, that hand gave a sudden tug downwards. Corvo’s head tipped back and Daud latched his mouth on the exposed part of his neck, sucking lightly on the pulse point right below the jaw.

Corvo didn’t know whether Daud specifically remembered how it had driven him mad or just went with the flow, but his preferences haven’t changed and the suddenness of the gesture only spiked up the sensation, and so he didn’t even try to hold in a drawn-out, throaty moan.

And it wasn’t like like he needed to hold anything back, anyway.

“Playing dirty?” Corvo breathily asked, and the question trailed off into a quiet gasp when Daud moved to nip at his jaw and further up his cheek, and then grinned against his ear. 

“If it works,” he murmured, and the low rumble of his voice sent a shiver down Corvo’s spine. 

And when that shiver grew to outright trembling when Daud peppered wet open-mouthed kisses over and next to the shell of his ear Corvo could only pray that none of this would stop. For this was the man he loved—he knew that, he’s known that for a long time—and falling apart in his arms was nothing if not one of the purest and most sacred desires. 

“Bastard,” Corvo could only gasp as his defenses crumbled under the assault, a retort so weak and ineffectual it couldn’t even serve its purpose of distracting him from the mess of senses and emotions spinning frighteningly, delightfully, blissfully fast out of his control. Just as wildly spun his head—his whole body, really, had no mercy for him and he thought he was going to come so undone he wouldn’t be able to put himself back together. 

And it didn’t bother him. It was an incredibly freeing thought, this feeling that he could finally let go, let go of the control, let go of his grip; let go and let himself be blown away like a leaf in the wind to lands he’s never been, where he was as free as he could ever be to love and be loved with no repercussions or responsibilities or restrictions, with nothing and no one to stop him.

He still struggled to grasp the reality of it all.

Maybe that was why all of Daud’s touches and kisses and bites that claimed Corvo for his own felt so disarming and maddening; each and every one assuring with its whisper, _here it is, this is your reality, take it, take it all._ And not only did Corvo take but he returned, as well—every drop of that passion and want and need soaking into his bones and fueling the same responding force, searing his kisses as he dragged his lips over Daud’s cheek, as he panted into his neck, as he clung to his broad frame and dug his nails into the skin. 

The next time he caught sight of Daud’s eyes they were dark with desire so indescribable it worked to mist over Corvo’s own. 

With his eyelids heavy, with his voice barely even there, with no air to spare for any words, Corvo demanded for any remainders of his breath to be taken away.

“Kiss me. Kiss me, Daud.”

Something broke between them at the words, some thin taut string finally snapping. The force of their mouths crashing together increased tenfold; it was something of a frenzy with which Daud claimed Corvo’s lips and tongue and with which Corvo replied in kind.

Someone—Corvo wasn’t sure who; not like he had any mind to care—let out a genuine growl from the back of the throat, the animalistic sound only spiking up the sheer intensity of the act, the vigor, the _hunger._ It quickly spiraled out of control and there was nothing but Daud’s lips and his teeth and his hands that wandered with such amazing precision—there was only the urgency, the need to make up for all the time lost.

Something fearfully possessive, almost violent, was in the shared contact now; something desperate. A sort of desperate anger as their upper-body clothing was—finally—practically torn off and thrown to the floor. Anger at the six Void-damned years of silence, at the fact that they had to part in the first place, at their circumstances, at the missed chances; anger at themselves, at each other, at the world, at—

Corvo gasped for desperately needed air when he found himself pushed flat onto his back on the bed. They both took a long moment to catch their breath as Daud stood over him, panting just as hard, swollen lips parted in an expression of some sort of disbelief or astonishment. The frenzy was gone but the fire in his eyes wasn’t, still blustering in its remaining confusion.

Corvo did his best to level out his breathing and bring it back under control, holding eye contact.

No. They didn’t need this. Not like this.

They had everything already.

He pulled himself up and sat on the edge of the bed, then took Daud’s unmarked hand in both of his, the feel of it rough from the years of sword handling and working and whittling. He ran his thumb over the knuckles, reddened and a bit dry from the labor and the cold; then pressed a long kiss there before looking into Daud’s eyes and suddenly he knew what he needed to say.

What they both needed to hear.

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m here with you.” 

Maybe they both needed these assurances. Maybe they’d keep needing them for a while.

That was alright. They’d adjust, together.

The look in Daud’s eyes softened to something fragile, as if he took the words to heart and allowed them to expose something vulnerable in him. He brushed the side of Corvo’s jaw with the fingertips of the hand the other still held, then brought the other hand to the side of Corvo’s face and pressed a knee on the edge of the bed between Corvo’s legs for support as he leaned down to him.

Daud kissed him once again then, an utter contrast to the ravage of a couple minutes prior with its slowness and tenderness and near trepidation. Before Corvo could melt into the kiss again and deepen it, Daud broke away and leaned their foreheads together, eyes closed, and breathed a heavy sigh.

They stayed like that for a time, feeling one another’s breathing winding down, slowing, flowing together into a calm river. 

They didn’t need to rush.

They didn’t need to feel like this was their last night together. Because it wasn’t.

“Corvo.” The name brushed over Corvo’s lips in a whiff of moist breath, then Daud turned his head to nuzzle lightly against his cheek. “Corvo, I...”

He sucked in a tense breath and Corvo leaned away slightly to let their eyes meet; brushed his thumb over Daud’s cheek in a fond gesture of patience and reassurance.

Daud swallowed, looking at him—into his eyes, at his face, at the entirety of him—with incredible, tender affection. He brushed a tuft of hair back behind Corvo’s ear and slowly shook his head, the motion as unfocused as his gaze. “I’ve missed you so much,” he whispered. “Uselessly, pointlessly. I was never going to see you again. And yet I’ve missed you.”

There was a sorrow in his eyes now that was all too familiar. It didn’t belong there. 

“And yet I’m here,” Corvo whispered in return.

“A dream.”

“No.” Corvo brought both hands to Daud’s face now, slipped one of them to the back of his neck to pull him just a little closer. “No. Not at all.”

Daud breathed a sigh of something like hopeless resignation or defeat, the shards of longing’s remainders in his eyes melting to reveal again that same warmth. That was heartening; Corvo smiled and brushed his lips over Daud’s cheek only to, after a moment, hear a small chuckle in the back of his throat.

Corvo didn’t have to guess what inspired the reaction; he grinned and angled his head to genuinely rub his own cheek against Daud’s, at which the latter breathed a fuller laugh.

“Should I shave?” Corvo teasingly rumbled against Daud’s skin, though not actually meaning to go through with it.

“Absolutely not.”

It was said so non-negotiably that Corvo laughed as well and once again covered Daud’s mouth with his own, slowing down the pace to gently suck on his bottom lip and tongue, and then let him inside in return. At last, it looked like neither of them were about to stop or pull away; at last Corvo could give himself to the rising heat spreading over his entire body and rushing to his head when Daud brushed against his tongue with his in a particularly sensuous manner.

Regardless of which one of them was leading the general direction of their movements, the subtly shifting position didn’t leave much room for energy to keep upright and Corvo had to rely on his arm propped on the bed behind him, though that didn’t at all help and the support was stolen from him when Daud slipped downwards and sucked gently on his neck tendon. A groan broke out low in Corvo’s throat at that; he sent a hand into Daud’s hair when the latter slowly dragged a hand down Corvo’s chest and ribs, lingering only briefly on his side before slipping the arm around the small of his back and laying him down fully on the bed.

A few years ago when he would still let himself give in to those reveries, late at night in his bed, Corvo would have given anything to once again be pinned like that.

The next sound he made was something between a hiss and a swear when the change of position, be it on purpose or not, made Daud roll his hips down against his, forcing Corvo to actually acknowledge the growing tension in his groin.

Daud gave another light lick to Corvo’s neck before pulling up to look at him.

“What was that?”

He sounded like he genuinely thought he misheard or missed something important, but Corvo didn’t get to assure him of the contrary because Daud gave another, firmer and very deliberate, roll of his hips and grinned when a moan slipped past Corvo’s lips.

“Oh, you fucker,” Corvo chortled, then hummed into Daud’s lips again when they covered his own.

This kiss was quick and chaste, and Daud dotted a few more upon Corvo’s cheek in a trail towards his ear, then muttered, “One second,” before standing up and reaching to pull back the top blanket. As soon as Corvo saw what he was trying to do he sat up again, kicked off the long-unneeded wool socks and, when the “unmaking” of the bed was done, crawled back on it to plop down on the white sheets.

And it was pure bliss because almost right away he was enveloped in Daud’s scent and just the whole feeling of him, and the heavy weight of Daud’s half-lidded gaze on him as the man stood by the side of the bed filled him with throbbing want.

Daud was beautiful. Even now Corvo sensed the grounding weight of his posture, the way he was simply taking up space with that bulk of him, that firmness. Those powerful arms Corvo’s thought of many a time. The many years of routine training collected in the array of faded scars, in the athletic muscle, in the abs Corvo so badly wanted to run his hand over—and he would have, if Daud wasn’t standing so impermissibly far.

So instead Corvo kept looking and letting his hand have a mind of its own, absently and lightly brushing over the thigh of his own bent leg, relishing the way Daud’s eyes were roaming over him in return.

Hungry. Wanting.

Anticipatory. Patient.

Daud’s voice was hoarse when he spoke and Corvo’s teeth closed on the tip of his tongue at the way it sent a pleased shiver down his spine. 

“Why are your pants still on?”

Corvo smirked, rolling his head to the side, acutely aware of how he couldn’t help slightly arching his back. 

“Why are _yours?”_

Daud gave a quiet chuckle, then moved closer, pressing his leg against the bed to give himself more reach. He placed a hand on Corvo’s knee, the touch light and easy; then slid it slowly down his thigh and to the hip. When he made his way across the planes of the stomach Corvo bucked his hips, breath almost bated in the careful intake of the almost teasing in its lightness contact. 

But, well, bating his breath wasn’t working too well when the torturous slide of Daud’s fingers against his skin only made his breathing grow heavier.

Daud was close enough now. Close enough to touch and tease in return, but Corvo made himself lie still, only slightly and occasionally rocking his body to compliment Daud’s movements, giving him time and space to do as he liked.

It felt exposing and delightfully vulnerable to lie stretched out under that gaze, to be looked at like that, to feel in the touch that tentative eagerness held back by patience and self-control.

At this rate Corvo could melt into the sheets, so relaxed and languid his muscles have become—and so it was so easy for Daud’s fingers brushing over his nipple to summon a gasping sigh out of him.

To both his frustration and delight—and the latter was a far stronger feeling here—Daud moved his hand no further, no doubt in the face of the received reaction, and instead lingered, shifting into a position more fitting to give much more deliberate attention to the same spot. There was a soft, easy smile on his face now, something hazy in his eyes as he kept worrying the hardening nub, tweaking it gently, circling it with his thumb. 

At a particularly pleasant touch Corvo rumbled low in his throat, sucking in a hissing breath right afterwards, and Daud pitched forward to lick at his collarbone dip, kissed the tender skin there, inducing a shiver with the light scratch of stubble. It barely took a few seconds of Corvo keeping his eyes closed before they snapped back open and a prolonged moan tore out of his chest—wet heat enveloped his other nipple and he arched his back in unconscious attempt to push it further into Daud’s mouth; soon there was a hand on his side, gripping firmly to either keep him still or pull him closer, and all Corvo could think about was the suction of Daud’s lips and the laves of his tongue.

And also that his pants were about to get uncomfortably tight. 

“Daud,” managing to win over his gasping breaths, he rasped; and ignoring his own need, reached over and tugged at the waistband of Daud’s pants in something of a demand, and then bit down on his lip when the other sent maddening vibrations into his chest with a hum. “Fuck, _Daud.”_

Finally, Daud raised his head and fixed his gaze on him.

“What?” he asked, and Corvo was sure there was absolutely no need for such a question, but then Daud licked his lips and Corvo could come undone right then.

“Undress. Now.”

Daud grinned, beautiful and feral, and Corvo loved him so terribly.

But of course Daud did as he liked, and was utterly smug about it. 

“Guests first,” he said, and Corvo rolled his eyes and firmly brushed over Daud’s by now swelling groin in retaliation. That earned him a hissed swear and Corvo cackled, but then compliantly raised his hips to let the other pull off his pants and underwear, finally releasing his hardening cock to the air that felt a little cool at first to the increasingly sensitive flesh. 

Thankfully, Daud didn’t linger and made quick work of his own clothes right after, exposing himself fully to Corvo’s hungry eyes and the latter made use of the view while he could, slipping his hand downwards and brushing a teasingly light touch of his own up the underside of his shaft— He wasn’t sure if it was a purposefully seductive gesture on his part or just a natural reaction to the sight of the strangely graceful in their sternness angles of Daud’s body, his strong legs, his gradually straining length amidst the softness of curls that trailed up his lower abdomen and eventually thinned out into a line, the mental rush of vivid stimulating possibilities of all the things the man could do with it—probably both. What he _was_ sure of was that Daud's grown no less desirable over the past six years—perhaps the time spent apart made him even more so in Corvo's eyes—and that they both were perfectly comfortable with these open displays of want. So Corvo settled just as comfortably in his own shamelessness, let Daud have an unimpeded view of him lazily stroking himself, because of him, for him.

Though they both knew, Corvo was sure, that they could just stay there and stare at and appreciate each other for Void knows how long, and as much as he loved feeling the intensity of Daud’s darkened gaze roaming over his body it couldn’t compare to the need to feel him physically.

“Get your ass over here,” he breathed, his voice barely anything more than a dry rasp.

Daud didn’t need to be told twice. Corvo unbridledly arched up when Daud was climbing over him, and turned to face him when the man settled by his side, and immediately their mouths met in a a familiar intensive dance that grew simultaneously easier and more heated with every step.

The sigh Daud let out into the kiss morphed into a groan when the top of Corvo’s thigh brushed over his straining need, and then Corvo pulled away and shifted to suck on the junction of Daud’s neck and shoulder instead, humming lowly into the skin as though it was an ambrosial dish he was tasting. 

With just as much vigor he imagined taking him fully into his mouth, all at once or bit by bit, fast and rough or slow and languid and drawn out— Void, there was so much, there was so much he wanted to do and be done to himself, they had so much, they had _so much time._

They had no more restrictions and just that thought alone sent goosebumps scattering over his skin. 

With a hum of something unintelligible, barely having managed to (partly) twist himself out of Corvo’s grasp, Daud rolled over to the side of the bed closer to him and reached for the drawer of the bedside table. Corvo made use of the new angle, running his hand over the man’s skin and feeling the muscle underneath, sliding down to his hip and top of his thigh and peppering wet kisses down the line of his body all the while. 

Daud regained his previous position with a vial of oil in his hand and, if not for the kiss that stole his breath, Corvo thought he wouldn’t have been able to hold in an anticipatory groan. 

With his free hand Daud held Corvo by the chin, angling him deeper into the kiss, and then kept him right there when he pulled slightly away.

“Lie on your back, hm?” he murmured against Corvo’s lips and the latter was more than happy to oblige, settling in comfortably by Daud’s side and watching in enthralled expectancy as he poured some of the oil into his hand and rolled it gently around in his palm, probably to warm it up. The sight in itself was enough to tighten a coil of anticipatory arousal in Corvo’s groin, and so his hand traveled slowly down his chest and stomach and ultimately came to brush against the head of his cock.

Daud, in the meantime, has liberally coated his fingers and, turning to look at him, paused at the new sight.

His half-lidded eyes, his parted lips and increasingly deep breaths only amplified the heat coursing through Corvo’s body and he took care to move unhurriedly on purpose, ghost his fingertips all the way down the shaft and firm up the touch on the way up, slow, languid, almost exploratory— _how do you want me?_

Daud let out a sigh so shaky and heavy it seemed almost tortured.

“Yeah,” he breathed, his voice low and husky. “Touch yourself. Just like that.”

Shivering all the way through, Corvo practically whimpered. 

“Daud,” he croaked, overcome with arousal and emotion and the need to be close. “Kiss me.”

No time was wasted in granting the request, Daud’s lips so sweet and tender against his own, his tongue careful and gentle in his mouth. Daud needed this, too, it seemed—his eyes clenched shut, his brow tense with strain of need, his breath jerky and uneven and hot against Corvo’s lips when they parted after several long moments.

“I’ll go slow,” he muttered, then kissed Corvo’s forehead when the other nodded. Slipping his hand downwards, Daud brushed his fingertips briefly over the tip of Corvo’s cock, earning him a hitch in the other’s breathing, then moved further down to rub at the entrance. Corvo spread wider his legs that he bent in the knee, granting more room, then sucked in a breath through his teeth when the first finger pushed in.

He stroked himself a bit more eagerly now, providing himself with a distraction from the light stinging sensation; then rolled his hips in the process of adjusting—though, soon, the discomfort of the finger pushing in deeper lessened significantly when his attention turned to the string of open-mouthed kisses Daud left on his cheek and his jaw and next to his ear.

“Shh. That’s it. Nice and slow.”

Daud pumped the finger in and out gently, purring sweet nothings into Corvo’s ear that worked to both soothe his muscles and coil the tension tighter in his groin, and Corvo kept rocking his hips to loosen himself up, to take in more—

He groaned when Daud moved to suck a kiss into the crook of his neck, and then added a second finger at a point when Corvo seemed most distracted. The addition was perceptible but not uncomfortable; it granted the sensation of slowly being filled, it pushed the whole feeling much further into the realm of satisfaction and need for more, it added reach and made Corvo gasp and throw his head back when the fingers firmly brushed his prostate. Daud hummed lowly into his neck then, spread his fingers apart as he pushed deeper, pressing more deliberately and pointedly into the same spot, stretching him, filling him, making him pant, making him curl his toes, making him need more, making him his.

Maybe Corvo needed something to hold on to, or maybe that was just a weak excuse— he didn’t need any excuses, really, seeing as Daud was pressed flush against his side and it was so easy to slip a hand between them, drag it down the man’s muscular chest and the firm planes of his stomach and all the way to the throbbing erection of his own; marvel once again after all this time at how hot and full it felt and how well it fit in his hold—

Daud’s groan was so tortured against his neck; he sunk his teeth into Corvo’s shoulder and then it was unclear what came first and thus immediately spurred the other: the squeezing of the head of Daud’s cock or the particularly hard thrust against Corvo’s prostate.

Corvo saw stars and Daud moaned like a wounded animal. 

Freeing his other hand and leaving himself to leak precome onto his stomach, Corvo grabbed Daud by the back of his neck and kissed him, messy and sloppy, ravaging, swallowing all the pained sounds of desperate pleasure the other was making. He caught sight of Daud’s eyes afterwards, hazy and dark and glinting with need, and he never wanted those eyes to slide off him.

“More,” he rasped, hot breath flush against Daud’s skin, hips rolling in tandem with the movements of Daud’s hand to push him in deeper, to demand to have all of him. “Give me more, come on—”

Even before he could finish the sentence Daud pitched in to suck at his pulse point and pushed a third finger into him, and Corvo keened at the stretch.

He felt he wouldn’t be able to bear much more of this—absently but firmly running his thumb over the leaking head of Daud’s cock only reinforced that notion, and as he basked in the groan that spilled generously and unbridledly from the man’s lips he tried not to lose himself completely to the conjured sensational images of being taken and stretched open and filled by the entirety of him—

A couple of rough jerks of Corvo’s hand pushed a hissed swear out of Daud which then dissolved into a throaty hum vibrating against the tender skin of his throat.

“Corvo—” And if just the ruined, hoarse rumble of his name into his skin was enough to send shudders coursing all over him, Corvo could tell he was going to be long gone from anything more. “Void, what are you doing to me…”

And it was both enough and not enough, and Corvo wanted to stay like this, right here, forever, and yet he wanted so much more, he wanted Daud, wanted so much of him, wanted everything and all at once.

The shaky words combined with the ripples of pleasure surging through his body pushed out a lengthy, broken moan out of his chest, and the graze of Daud’s teeth over his neck tendon didn’t make anything easier.

“Corvo.” Kisses followed—wet, hot, open-mouthed kisses Corvo’s heated skin was so sensitive to. “Void, Corvo. I want you. I—”

With another groan forming behind clenched teeth, Corvo arched his back, blindly seeking Daud’s lips but quickly giving up on the task and throwing his head back against the pillow when they continued to lave at his neck at a blessed pace and pressure. “Yes. Tell me.”

“—So much. Fucking Void, I want to fuck you so bad—”

It was simultaneously too much and not nearly enough and Corvo was immeasurably glad for the bed beneath him or else he would have plunged straight into the aforementioned Void.

His voice came surprisingly firm and rough for being reduced to such a mess, surprisingly commanding, when he said, “Then do it.”

The growl Daud let out then was enough to make Corvo almost fear the intensity of sensation he expected he was about to receive.

The fingers were now gone and he was left horribly empty, rocking his hips to adjust to the air that all of a sudden felt a bit too cool to his slicked and loosened hole. Daud, in the meantime, wasn’t wasting time and in a smooth motion pulled himself up, settling in between Corvo’s bent legs, who sucked in a shaky anticipatory breath and brought his hand to his lips, licking off the drop of Daud’s precome that was left on his thumb when the man’s cock slipped out of his hold on the way up.

Unrestrained lust glazed over Daud’s eyes, and Corvo had to admit to letting his thumb linger on his tongue for a second longer than necessary. 

Lightly, dazedly, Daud shook his head, as if in lingering disbelief or from being overwhelmed with everything going on (and Corvo could easily relate to that). Once more he swore under his breath, and this time his hands found Corvo’s knees and slid slowly down his thighs in simultaneously a caress and an adjustment of the other’s position. Corvo complied, spreading his legs a bit wider and biting down on his lip when Daud lightly brushed along his shaft with his knuckles.

“Daud,” he groaned, though it sounded much more like a plea than demand. “For fuck’s sake.”

Daud kept his eyes on him, almost pinning him down with his heavy gaze alone and only briefly flicking it to his hands when he had to see where he was pouring the oil. Once more he spread some on Corvo’s entrance, making him hiss at the ached-for contact with the sensitive heated muscle, then slathered his cock and, with a hand on the other’s hip, guided himself in.

“All good?” he checked, pressing so tormentingly against Corvo, and nodded when the other gave him an unintelligible go-ahead paired with an impatient roll of his hips.

Finally, finally Daud pushed in, torturous and slow, giving Corvo’s muscles time to relax and adjust to the increased stretch. Any and all resistance evaporated at the thought of how badly Corvo’s yearned for this, how much he’s missed this man and how utterly inconceivable and incredible it was that he was with him right now, right here, in his bed, taking him all in both in body and mind—

Corvo gripped the bedsheets and whimpered when Daud gently pulled back and then rocked back in a bit further, and Corvo could barely even tell how far in he was when all that mattered was the return of that heat filling him up, now increased tenfold, spreading out over his entire body and reaching all the farthest little corners like jolts of electricity.

He needed a moment to go back to being able to keep his eyes open and clear, a moment before he could glean the incredible amount of strain on Daud’s face as he pushed in as slow as he could, then stopped for a few seconds to heave a few shaky breaths.

His voice cracked when he grated out Corvo’s name; he clenched his eyes and teeth and gripped the inside of Corvo’s thigh to keep himself under control, and a part of Corvo not muddled with need absently thought that he wouldn’t let himself loose even if he was given leave to do so.

“Daud,” he croaked, a little coaxing, reaching out to drag a hand over the man’s torso, raking his nails lightly over the skin. “Daud, I need you. Need you so much.”

_“Shit.”_

The swear got synchronized with the thrust that must have buried Daud more or less to the hilt within him because Corvo arched his back and moaned with all the unimpeded force of his voice when the sensation set off a spark that lit his entire body up. And he might have pleaded incoherencies under his breath, or he might not have, he didn’t know—but distantly he heard Daud groaning breathlessly above him, though now he seemed—was—closer and Corvo took the chance to pull him down by the back of his neck into a messy meeting of teeth and tongue he kept outright moaning into as the adjusted position pushed Daud in _deeper._

The thrusts settled into a more or less stable brisk pace, and by that point most things became a blur—Corvo could only scramble for purchase, clench his thighs around Daud’s body and rake his nails over his chest and shoulders and back, feeling the muscles at work contracting and rolling under the skin as the man pounded into him, occasionally shifting angle and speed and every single time making Corvo feel the full length of him with every single sensitive nerve ending. 

At a particularly slow and deep thrust Corvo clenched around Daud’s cock, forcing a long moan out of Daud’s throat and making him pull back up, one arm propped against the mattress next to the other’s shoulder. With his other hand Daud hooked up Corvo’s leg, pushing it towards the man’s torso and switching his hold to grip the back of his thigh as he kept and kept on pushing pants and gasps out of him with every merciless roll of his hips. 

Corvo seized a grip of his own, clenching the wrist of Daud’s propped-up arm and gripping his neglected cock, his eyes nearly rolling back at the blend of sharp sensations that indescribably grew even sharper when the general pace slowed down in favor of accuracy, every thrust hitting its mark better than the last. 

The look of lust laced with adoration on Daud’s face was stunning.

Soon they both surrendered to a groan and Corvo pushed back against him, rolling his hips in slow synchrony, pushing another drawn-out swear out of Daud’s throat. 

“I’ve dreamed about you, you know that?” Daud rasped, voice husky with viscous want and lack of air. Corvo keened, throwing his head back, fully baring his throat out for the taking—and Daud didn’t need any spoken encouragements to immediately dip down and assault his neck with a multitude of biting kisses and grazes of teeth.

“Daud—”

“I’ve dreamed about you, writhing under me, just like this—”

“Fuck, Daud—”

The name trailed off into another loud moan when the next thrust brought him dangerously close to the edge. Daud must have felt something similar because his moan was just as desperate; he dropped his forehead to Corvo’s shoulder and the latter shivered under the moist heat of his labored breath against his skin. And there might be a handprint-like bruise on the back of thigh later, and that thought only worked to plunge Corvo deeper into the pits of incoherency—

“Corvo— My Corvo—”

Somehow in the haze of bliss Corvo managed to find and grip Daud’s hair, tug him up to crash their mouths together, and he could honestly die a happy man like this.

Seeing as they both were in dire need of air, in just a couple of moments they were left panting against one another’s lips, foreheads pressed together in something of a mutual support. 

“Daud. Daud, I’m close—”

And, judging by the pattern of Daud’s breathing, so was he.

Somehow, the tenderness of the next kiss only quickened the advance of the wave that was about to swallow Corvo whole, and there was a brief flash of reluctance in Daud’s movements when he broke it off and then pulled himself back up, adjusting his grip on Corvo’s legs to give himself more leverage in going back to the slow, deep thrusts that hammered every remaining thought out of Corvo’s head and replaced them only with muddled, throbbing warmth.

Corvo didn’t even register the howling moan that tore out of his throat like a bullet until it broke him out of his daze with its sheer volume, and only then did his poor overwhelmed brain catch up to the crushing surge of orgasm that stripped him down to the bones.

He had to take a good several moments to bring his vision back into focus. He was breathing so heavily it felt like his chest cavity would burst open. 

When he finally regained his awareness he right away turned his attention to Daud, only distantly cognizant of the uncontrolled trembling in his thighs and the fluttering of muscles around Daud’s throbbing length in the aftershocks of release.

“Come on,” he murmured, rubbing soothing, encouraging circles over Daud’s lower abs as the man visibly strained to hold himself together. “Almost there, come on—”

A couple more labored thrusts, and with a hiss Daud made a move to pull out but the clenching of Corvo’s thighs around him kept him in place.

“Stay in,” Corvo blurted through clenched teeth, suddenly overcome with the visceral reminder that his need to have _everything_ was still completely serious.

A shadow of surprise flickered across Daud’s features, though dissolved immediately when he slowly pushed back in with groan, clearly teetering on the very edge, and it took just one more soft murmured encouragement from Corvo to make him dig his nails into the other’s hip and spill inside with a loud gasping moan of relieved bliss.

With his body so devoid of energy, Corvo was capable only of small, languid rocks of his hips as he delighted in the feel of hot seed inside him. His eyelids were incredibly heavy, he could hardly keep them half-open as he continued gently rubbing Daud’s stomach and side and hip, taking in all his panting glory.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathed with an easy smile, tired and hazy and drunk on lingering pleasure.

Daud took a few more moments to bring his breathing more or less under control, then rubbed his face and looked back at Corvo with as much fondness as anyone’s gaze was probably capable of holding. He slipped out of Corvo, then leaned down over him and kissed him softly.

“You should see yourself,” he murmured against his lips, and Corvo’s smile widened before he nuzzled Daud’s cheek.

They stayed like that for a bit, and Daud’s warm weight on top of him was just satisfying enough for Corvo to begin to doze off, but eventually Daud pulled back, stood up from the bed and walked over to the dresser, where he picked up the towel they’d discarded previously.

Corvo peeled his eyes open with an effort, watching Daud in languid contentment as he returned and sat down on the bed next to him again.

“You want to shower?” Daud asked softly as he worked to wipe the come off Corvo’s stomach and chest, then out of his still overly sensitive entrance. 

Corvo only managed a negating hum.

“In the morning,” he mumbled after a moment, though didn’t think to add what exactly constituted “morning” in this particular case.

Daud gave a breathy chuckle, then leaned in to press a kiss to the tip of Corvo’s nose and tossed the towel someplace on the floor. “Sleep, then.”

“Mhm.”

At last, Daud turned off the lamp on the bedside table, settled back in at Corvo’s side and pulled the covers over them both. Another chaste gentle kiss, and he was carding through Corvo’s hair, making him nuzzle in closer. 

“Tomorrow, we’re going into the city,” Daud murmured after a minute, “and getting you proper winter clothes.”

The words made Corvo’s lips stretch into a smile—the idea of staying here and living with Daud made him indescribably happy. Although—“And what makes you so sure I’ll be capable of walking tomorrow?”

A warm chuckle rumbled in Daud’s throat, and he pressed just as warm of a kiss to Corvo’s cheek. “When you’re able, then.”

Corvo hummed in agreement, muttered some semblance of _good night_ into Daud’s neck, and with the measured rise and fall of the man’s chest beneath his arm, closed his eyes and sunk into the sheets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve waited for sO LONG
> 
> Oh and the title is from the song “Wrecking Ball” by Interpol


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mornings are for sleeping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Corvo: *sleeps*  
> Me, sobbing: it’s so beautiful

Daud woke up to an unusual but familiar warmth at his side, and only when he opened his eyes did he remember that just last night, just some several hours ago, a miracle was bestowed on his life.

That very miracle was currently snoring softly into his shoulder.

For a good couple of minutes he couldn’t tear his eyes off Corvo. He remembered perfectly well, from the few times he got to experience it, how lovely, how peaceful it was to watch him be at ease of sleep. With Corvo right here, after all this time, the feeling was increased tenfold. It made Daud want to gather Corvo into his arms and pull him close, to support and encourage with his every gesture this laze and idleness this man deserved so much.

He could try to imagine how difficult it must have been for Corvo to leave the post he’s occupied for decades, one entangled with his very name like nothing else. How difficult it must have been to hand over his role to another, to give up control, to give up the ability—the privilege—of getting things done all by himself. How difficult it must have been to bring himself to trust someone else to keep the one most dear to him safe—after all that’s happened.

Some of that worry and internalized stress had made a home on Corvo’s face, etching and deepening the creases on his forehead, the signs of tension around his mouth, the crinkles around his eyes. And as he slept, all of that not so much as disappeared but faded slightly, allowing a glimpse of the ease and peace of mind he had every chance of finding here. Daud wanted to think so. It was a nice thought, that maybe Corvo finally didn’t have to worry so much, that he could live for himself for a change, that he could breathe easy. 

Perhaps Corvo was already embracing that idea, subconsciously, seeing how he took up the space in Daud’s bed as if it was his own, how he was pressed into Daud’s side with an arm loosely draped over his midriff like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like it was exactly how things should be.

All the long-accumulated feelings of respect and care and fondness for this man manifested in a gentle expression of adoration on Daud’s face, and he felt he’d be damned to the Void if he didn’t brush a tuft of hair away from where it fell over Corvo’s eyes, or if he didn’t lean in and press his lips to his forehead, just below the hairline.

And so he did just that. 

And then once more, closer to the brow. He couldn’t help himself.

Corvo didn’t stir, allowing Daud to continue adoring him with his eyes at leisure, making the most out of the first moment of complete dormancy since this new development took place in their lives. The events of last night made up an emotionally demanding journey that took him completely by surprise: the out-of-nowhere meeting and following conversations like a release of something long buried within, the sex afterwards like, among other things, a chance for his brain to catch up to the fact that this was really what his life has just turned into. Now, with the change fully dawned on him (a surprise in itself), he was savoring it.

It was funny, really, how easily things tended to turn upside down. With Corvo, that was a bit of an established pattern by now, and Daud was more than happy to go with the flow and not give into much thought about how and why this came to be. Corvo came all this way and, by the looks of it, was here to stay.

Corvo wanted to be with him. It was as simple as that.

Just the very fact that Daud could see this as “simple” was so fresh, so strange, and yet so wonderful. The fact that they were both at the point in their lives where such a thing was “simple” for them was not only difficult to grasp, but was simultaneously like a huge breath of relief Daud’s been holding in this entire time without knowing it.

He didn’t know what exactly spurned him to send that note two years ago. Maybe that article reminded him of how he missed Corvo. Maybe it served as a push for him to act upon that buried longing. Maybe it was just a convenient excuse to send _something_ in attempt to feel just a little closer to Corvo, when full-out letters seemed gratuitous. He certainly didn’t do it for the sake of any expectations—Daud had stopped having those a long, long time ago. Not harboring expectations was handy; it spared him from the disappointment of them not being met, but left him pleasantly surprised when something good did happen once in a while.

And—well.

It seemed the soft smile of happy contentment has made a home on Daud’s lips and wasn’t about to leave any time soon. Just like a certain someone in his bed.

According to his intuition, it was around noon, possibly a little bit past that. It took a couple of minutes for the morning laziness to simmer out just enough to allow Daud to roll over and take a look at the clock on the bedside table, confirming the rough estimate—three-quarters past eleven. It was quiet; the storm has calmed down during the night. Light was already streaming in through the slits in the wood, so he wasn’t too worried about letting more into the room as he propped himself up on his elbow and reached over to the wall to open the window shutters.

Sunny snowy mornings such as this were always a delight to wake up to.

By the looks of it, the storm had brought on quite a bit of snow, so Daud stretched with the thought that he’d have to once again clear the path leading up to the porch, as well as some of the space around it. He couldn’t complain, really, seeing as the past week hadn’t seen much snowfall, which had allowed him a small break where he could afford to put off some of the winter chores until later.

The mattress dipped and creaked and Daud turned his attention back to the stirring Corvo who, even in sleep, didn’t waste time in scooting into the freed space between them, probably seeking the main source of heat he was robbed of when the other moved out of his easy reach. Sure enough, he quickly reacquired it, tucking himself back against Daud’s side with an unintelligible half-groan, half-mumble.

The change of position woke him up, though, and he peeled open his eyes with visible effort, squinting in the spilling sunlight.

“Morning,” Daud said, and then laughed when Corvo immediately responded with a sharp negating hum and buried his face in the cleft between the pillow and the other’s shoulder.

Not morning yet, then. Alright. Daud kept grinning as he landed a quick peck on the back of Corvo’s head and then dropped his own back down onto the pillow, looking at the ceiling as he casually thought about the other chores he needed to see to.

He must have dozed off after a bit, because the next time Corvo stirred (and pretty much crawled halfway on top of him) worked to slowly drag Daud back out of the morning haze.

The kiss that followed woke him up completely.

Corvo was smiling so sweetly now, remainders of sleep cotton-soft in his eyes, and Daud thought he never wanted to wake up to anything else.

_“Now_ is it morning?” he rumbled, teasing, and Corvo jerked his shoulder in a shrug as he lazily dragged his fingertips along the other’s jaw.

“Sure. Why not.”

Daud hummed in response, closing his eyes for a beat, enjoying the light touch and the warmth and the closeness.

“Only in name, though,” Corvo added and then plopped back down on his side, arm slung across Daud’s chest and eyes closed. He looked like a pleased cat; contentment couldn’t have been written clearer on his face.

“Just what time did you have to get up in the Tower, hm?” 

“Earlier than necessary.” 

Daud scoffed, Corvo grinned and after a moment rolled onto his back. “You know,” he continued, though had to take a pause to let out a yawn as he stretched, spreading himself out on the space and arching his back as he settled into something more comfortable, “I can’t believe we actually got to share a bed that’s wider than a fucking meter.” 

That was a sentiment very easily shared, and since Daud was too busy for it last night, he was taking the time now to thank his past self for making the right choice with this purchase. “Tell me about it. Sleep well?”

The question was unnecessary, he felt, with the way Corvo was looking perfectly satisfied with nestling back into the pillows and adjusting the blanket to accommodate the change in his position. In place of a reply, he just hummed.

“You’re gonna make a mess of your sleep schedule, at this rate,” without any real reprimand, Daud said; mostly because he’s missed their teasing. He was pleased to find it felt just as good as before. Better, really, with the subconscious assurance that, all these years later, they could pick up right where they left off—minus the hurt and the stress and all the stakes.

All of that seemed so distant now. So long ago.

Without bothering to open his eyes, Corvo smiled, easy and lazy and a little sly. “Never had one in the first place.” 

His entire demeanor took a conclusive stance in communicating that he wasn’t about to be getting up any time soon. When he scooted in closer and once again slung an arm over the other’s chest, Daud saw that neither was he.

That suited him just fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uwu


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corvo and Emily exchange letters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: from now on I’ll only be writing flu— oh who am I kidding
> 
> or, alternatively:
> 
> Me: haha but what if Corvo and Emily talked about Daud at one point and it went down horribly and they immediately swept that under the rug and never talked about it again and pretended it didn’t happen and that everything was perfectly normal haha  
> Me@me: stop it. Get some help
> 
> God, this entire concept is. so. complicated and there’s so many options on how this could go and seeing as I can’t explore all of them I’m gonna stick with the one I like most, but isn’t that what we usually do anyway. This thingy jumps forward in the chronology and is also an experiment all on its own, so we’ll just have to see what happens, I guess 
> 
> Also let’s say one letter takes around two weeks to go from Yaro to Dunwall because SUPER FAST POSTAL SHIPS

_Yaro, Tyvia,  
The Month of Hearths 14, 1858._

__

_Emily,_

_I seem to recall Her Majesty the Empress requesting a report of my settlement in the Isle of Tyvia, so… here it is._  
_How did the first month (more like two, by the time you receive this. Void, this long distance is going to be taxing) without me go? How are you (and everyone else, I suppose)? You must tell me everything, I worry._  
_The road was nice, not quite as boring as I expected. I decided that I like cruises after all—I’d say it's a perfectly decent way to unwind, especially since most people on board have the same idea. You’d be surprised by all the sorts of people you can meet in the dining hall._  
_I’m afraid there’s not much I can tell you, as it’s only been a week of my being in Tyvia and I’ve hardly actually traveled. And, frankly, I don’t think I will anytime soon. I stopped in Yaro—I do plan on visiting some nearby cities, of course, that’s a given. But that’ll come a bit later. The weather’s been cold, as expected, but simply delightful. You’d absolutely love all the snow, Dunwall’s never gotten so much. It’s beautiful when the sun glitters off it in the mornings._  
_Emily, I owe you a bit of an explanation. I’m not proud of doing this over correspondence instead of face to face, as I probably should have, earlier. For that I’m sorry. It’s been a long, long time since we’ve last touched on the subject and I’m sure we both remember how that ended. But I didn't think we'd ever need to discuss it further—as I didn't think I'd ever be met with circumstances that may demand it. Considering your thoughts on the matter, I think we were both justified in avoiding the subject. But. I met Daud again. I went to find him, actually—I accidentally got a lead, of sorts, on where he might be, and followed it to him. He lives in a house on the outskirts of Yaro, he built it himself a few years ago. It’s small, it’s cozy. I’ve stayed here for a week now, at the time of my writing this, and I’m sorry I didn’t write on the very first day of my arrival, but I just wanted to first get a sense of where things might fall. A week might seem like a very short time, but it’s quite enough to tell me that I plan to spend the foreseeable future here. I can’t imagine this news pleasing you, and the fact that it must come off as sudden will probably worsen that, and, once again, I’m sorry for keeping this from you. I didn't want to give you any indeterminate news before being sure of what was happening myself. But now, here I am, and I ask you to, once again, hear me out, and perhaps even try to understand. I’m not sure how much I should tell you now, which is why I will leave that to you to ask me anything you’d like explanation or clarification on, and I’ll do my best to give it, because as this is a sensitive subject for us both, it’s quite dear to me, and I want nothing more than for us to try to get on the same page._  
_Also, from this point on, please send your letters (and refer others who may urgently need it) to box 327 of the same address; I don’t want to flood Daud’s._

_Hope everything is well,_  
_Corvo_

*

_Dunwall, Gristol,  
The Month of Seeds 2, 1858._

_Corvo,_

_I’m glad you arrived safely! It’s so good to finally hear from you. And just as good is to hear you're enjoying the country so far, though I never had any doubts about that. Things here are going smoothly, don’t worry about us. You should have seen Martha the first few days after you left, though—she practically came alive, which, considering her usual demeanor, is really impressive. It sure was something. Sometimes I wonder if you’ve been too hard on her. Just a bit. Wyman is back and is sending his greetings, Jameson’s being his usual self, and I won’t bore you with the usual policy business, especially now that it doesn’t concern you personally. I’m sure you won’t miss it. Besides—you can still spy on us just fine by reading newspapers, no?_

_I’ll be honest, I had to take a couple of days before I was ready to continue this letter, and it’s the middle of the night as I’m writing this, so excuse my stream-of-conscious rambling._  
_I wrote down the address you gave me (thank you), but I burned your letter lest anyone find it and learn what you’ve told me. I’m sorry, it’s not personal, just… No, actually, it is very much personal; I still don’t know what exactly to think aside from how some would say that my father is essentially committing treason. This is my fourth, and damn final, draft (which is why the first paragraph is on a separate page, by the way), so this is as coherent of a reply as you’re going to get—much more so than the early versions of this were, so take it or leave it._  
_Again, I really don’t know what to start with. I… guess I should have known? You’re right, though—we should have talked about this more, and a huge part of me still doesn’t want to even think about it and is trying to refuse discussing it, and I’m sure this isn’t pleasant for you, either. So, for what it’s worth, thank you for being the one to bring this up. You hardly ever talked about mother so I don’t see how you’d want to talk about this, either—if we have to do this over paper, so be it._  
_This past couple of days I’ve been thinking back to when you first told me about him, and… it’s hard. It really is. It’s upsetting to get this letter from you out of the blue and see that you’re asking me to just… accept this, it’s also upsetting to see that the reason you left in the first place was just to see him again. (I wish you were here to assure me of the contrary, that finding him was just an afterthought or some wild accident, but I realize how unrealistic that sounds, and so here I am, forced to wait and guess and jump to conclusions.) You know, all these years later it’s still hard to wrap my mind around the fact that not only is my mother’s killer still out there, but that my very own father had a chance to, if not kill him, then at the very least bring him to trial, and didn’t. For some reason. It still baffles me, considering how much you loved mother, or at least I think you d_  
_I should really be replying with a clearer head, only it’s difficult to put myself into the right mindset with everything going on during the day, so. Forgive me. I shouldn’t have said that. I won’t even bother crossing it out or starting over because you know perfectly well how I feel about all of this and it’s bound to slip up anyway. We talked about this. I already gave you a piece of my mind, and some of that was fair and deserved, and some wasn’t. I realize that. I’m trying to be as civil about this as I can, and I’m recalling everything you’ve tried to tell me about what kind of person he is and why you sought him out in the first place and how it was even possible for the two of you to somehow grow close, let alone work together. But I just can’t imagine that. I physically can’t. And I sort through all the things you’ve told me and try to think about it rationally, attempt to take your side into consideration, and yet it’s all ultimately overshadowed by the fact that you’ve kept his identity from me and I looked at his face and didn’t know who he was and you didn’t tell me. You watched me look into his eyes and didn’t tell me that this was the man who killed my mother and your empress right in front of me, and then you had the gall to And then you waited an entire year to fill me in and for weeks afterwards I had to struggle to pretend that everything was fine while I kept wondering just what else you’ve been keeping from me_  
_I hated you for it. I never thought that was possible, but I guess experiencing something that feels remarkably close to betrayal from the one you love and trust most tends to have such an effect. And I still can’t decide which one of us is being incredibly selfish here. But it’s fine now. I can’t begin to put into words how grateful I am, to you, for what you’ve done, over the course of—my entire life, really, and... After all you’ve been through, you deserve to do as you like and go where you please, to… move on, to be happy. I just can’t wrap my mind around the fact that it’s with him. I can’t, I just… I want to understand. Really, I do. But I don’t think I ever could and it feels like that alone will stop me from even trying because what’s even the point. If you can get over the death of the woman you loved and all the literal and metaphorical torture that’s put you through with the man that did all of that in the first place... I don’t know what to say. I really don’t. It sounded like a sick joke then and it still sounds like a sick joke now; I can’t imagine how this can possibly be good for you in any way whatsoever, but, frankly, after everything you’ve gone through I don’t think I have the right to tell you what’s right for you and what isn’t._  
_I miss you and I wish your trip was just that, rather than an escape to some other life._

_Emily_

*

_Yaro, Tyvia,  
The Month of Seeds 21, 1858._

_Em,_

_I’m sorry. I really, truly am. I never wanted to hurt you, and I never wanted to betray your trust. When we brought you to the Wale from the Tower, when you were there on that ship, safe and sound… I didn’t want anything else to fall apart. I’d had enough, and I got you back, and we had Dunwall to get back on its feet and I wanted everything to go right again. And I hated every second of lying to you but I was scared. I wanted to spare you the pain that would resurface, especially at the same time with all the issues we had to deal with, but I won’t pretend that my motivation was entirely selfless in that regard. Of course it wasn’t. As I said before, by that point Daud had become incredibly dear to me and I was scared to lose yet another loved one, even despite knowing it was inevitable. And because I knew it was inevitable, now that I look back I think that, deep down, I wanted to have a chance to let him go myself instead of having him being torn from me. I spared him once, all those years ago, and I wasn’t going to put him under the knife of the law, and on the brink of death, again. You might say that wasn't just for me to decide. However, I didn’t want you to bear the burden of judgment for this particular man. Because I know the toll that has taken on me. Because, all those years ago, when I saw a glimpse of the man that he was, it scared me. It threw me off course for a moment. Because as much as I wanted to believe that a cold-blooded killer, or a monster, was all he was, I couldn’t. You know why? Because it was painfully clear that it wasn’t true. And it didn't get any more true fifteen years after, and getting to know him and working and simply being with him has peeled off more and more layers of that old prejudice, and I didn’t even notice exactly when and how I went from seeing the Knife of Dunwall to just seeing… a man. A regular man. A man with mistakes and remorse and compassion and goodness and a strive to change._  
_I know it’s very easy to write these things, and consequently to read these pretty words on paper, and how hard it is to actually believe them. I realize that it’s practically impossible. And I wish I had a fixed logical explanation, or an excuse, to tell you how and why all of this came to be. But we don’t fall in love for any reason. And we don’t have control over whom we fall in love with. And as much as I’d like to ease your aches and grudges by attempting to explain all that I’ve went through in those months of working to pull you out of Delilah’s claws, and how exactly Daud helped and what he did simply by being there with me through it all, I don’t know if I really could. And so the only thing I have left is to ask you to trust me. Which, I realize, is incredibly bold of me, considering the situation._  
_Daud saved you, Em. And then he helped me save you the second time. And I will forever be grateful to him for that. He’s not just what you think of him as. Had you a chance to know him, I think you’d quickly realize that. I know, I know—it’s incredibly easy to say. Just… I love you. I love you more than anything in the world, and I would never deliberately do anything that would hurt you. But this… the past is a different kind of hurt, I think. The one we need to learn to let go. So perhaps it’s finally time to address it, hm?_

_Corvo_

_P.S. And please do tell me all about the “usual policy business” if you want me to sleep well at night. And do let lady Cottings know that I’ll know everything she’s up to, even if I can’t see her._

*

_Dunwall, Gristol,  
The Month of Timber 10, 1858._

_He killed my mother. He butchered your empress and the woman you loved like a pig and sent you to near death for it. I don’t know how you can overlook that. I don’t know how you can overlook the fact that he broke your life, and then pretend that he deserves your respect and your affection. If anything, it sounds like a delusion. I don’t care if he saved me. He could have saved me once or twice or any fucking number of times. It doesn’t change what he did, not for me, not for you, not for her. I don’t know how you can look at his face and not see hers. I don’t know how you can see him every day and not relive the moment everything was taken from you._

_Emily_

_P.S. Please don’t make me tell you all the “usual policy business,” I get more than enough of it during the day. Everything is well, trust me._

*

_Yaro, Tyvia,  
The Month of Timber 27, 1858._

_You’re right, it doesn't change what he did, and I’m not at all saying that. But it sure does change the perception of him. By no means am I asking you to absolve him of his crimes and ignore them. What I am asking is to try to look at the bigger picture. You may not care that he saved you, you may not prioritize that above your mother’s death, and, from your point of view, I get that. But it looks like you lack one fundamental understanding, and that is no one’s fault but my own. It may not matter to you that Daud saved you, but understand that it sure as all Void matters to me. Because you’re my daughter. Because you’re the best thing that ever happened to me. Because I would give my life for yours anytime without question and because the worst fear that a father can have is anything, anything at all, happening to his child. Emily, the second you were born everything and everyone else took a backseat. I’m rereading your letter as I write this and I am ashamed to realize that, for some reason, I never explicitly made that clear to you. Your life, your safety, your happiness always were, are, and will be my first priority and there’s nothing that can possibly change that. Your mother felt the exact same way, and I can tell you with full confidence that she would understand and concur with the amount of importance I’m placing on this. In a world where all my life I’ve had the capability to protect you, to hear of a situation where I not only could do nothing, but also could know nothing of that which sought to harm you… Not only was it frightening, but it was also incredibly humbling. And thus I can’t possibly not be grateful to the man who saved what’s most precious to me. I couldn’t possibly not begin to see him in a new light. And so that revelation allowed me to begin learning to see Daud as more than just a cause of my nightmares. It wasn’t easy. But, ultimately, it was infinitely easier than it would have been to keep clinging to hatred that, as I would clearly see day after day, was somewhat misplaced._  
_Emily, I don’t want to hurt you. I would never do that. But the fact that all these topics bring you pain does not mean that they need to be ignored and shoved away. What I know for absolute certain is that clinging to and ultimately drowning in hate and bitterness is the worst thing you can do to yourself. I’m not asking you to forgive, that’s not what this is about. You say that you don’t understand how it’s possible for me to even look at Daud with anything other than resentment, and I understand that, because, all those years ago, I also couldn’t imagine it. But by giving Daud a chance I allowed myself to make peace with him, and through that, as strange as it sounds, make peace with Jessamine’s death. Such a process is undoubtedly a painful one, yes; it does hurt, and it will hurt, but the thing is that it won’t ever stop hurting if we don’t make peace with our losses. When I held Daud at knifepoint, my gut told me that killing him would solve nothing and would not give me closure. When I watched Burrows’ execution, I felt hollow, because the burning wish for revenge and strive for justice that’s kept me going in the preceding months was gone, but the ache was still there. Such acts of “justice,” these... attempts to rid ourselves of issues by masking them as our enemies—that's merely a cutoff of a delicate process. A premature end. All those years ago I knew that, as long as Daud lived, there was an unresolved conflict that I needed to settle, and if he were to die by my hand, that conflict would stay unresolved permanently, forever, and there would be nothing I would be able to do to reverse and fix it. If you don't give yourself even a chance to achieve emotional closure, you’ll be dooming yourself to a life of bitter and corroding grief, and, Em, I don't think you want that. What we really should be remembering our passed loved ones by are their smiles and the joys of having known them—not the way they died._  
_So there is your answer, I think. Daud helped give me closure. And I’ve never really outlined it all just as I did now, and this isn’t a realization per se, but more like a... specification. And as I'm writing, this examination of everything that’s happened is making me value my relationship to Daud even more. I love him, Emily. And thus this may seem like a plea for his case, but it really isn’t. It’s a plea for you. I want closure for you. I want you to find peace with your mother’s death. And I want you to understand that she would have wanted the same thing for you._  
_I hope you will think about this._

_I love you._  
_Corvo_

*

_Dunwall, Gristol,  
The Month of Clans 23, 1858._

_Corvo,_

_I did think about this. And I understand the point you’re making. I do, logically, as strange as it sounds—you’d think there’s absolutely nothing logical about this entire situation, and yet._  
_I want to believe what you’re saying. I’m trying to calm the part of me that refuses to listen, but still I can’t help but wonder if by “making peace,” as you put it, I’d be betraying her memory. I don’t know, father. I don’t know if I could ever do this._

_Emily_

_P.S. Tell me, are you happy? With everything you’ve done? With the life you’re making with him? With how he’s treating you?_

*

_Yaro, Tyvia,  
The Month of Songs 10, 1858._

_Emily,_

_Yes, I’m happy. I’m happy with knowing that I left you in the best hands I could, and that you‘ll be safe and sound when I’m gone. I’m happy with having more confidence in that than I ever thought I could. I’m happy with being able to relax and not feel guilty about it—mind you, by no means do I mean that serving you as Lord Protector has been anything but a joy my entire life. It’s just... it’s tiring. I’m tired. You must understand that. And so I’m also happy with the fact that I’ve finally allowed myself to admit that._  
_As for Daud—yes, he treats me right. At this point I like to think I respect myself enough to not stand for anything but._  
_Don’t worry, Em. If you can trust me on this—and I sure hope you can—then trust that I know this is right for me. And that I know that the absolute last thing your mother would want for you is to suffer, especially on her behalf. Don’t think I don’t miss her, Em. I miss her every day. And even now I love her just as much as I ever have. But she’s in a good place. I may not know as much as I’d like about the Void, but I’ve seen enough to know that she’s well, and that she’s with you, always._

_Corvo_

*

_Dunwall, Gristol,  
The Month of Earth 5, 1859._

_Corvo,_

_If that’s so, then perhaps you should let me meet him properly at some point. Whatever the case may be, I can't ignore a significant part of my father’s life, can I?_  
_Besides, one day I’d like to see all that snow you’ve mentioned a few months ago._

_Emily_

_P.S. I hope you’re right. That she’s well—there, in the Void._

*

_Yaro, Tyvia,  
The Month of Earth 23, 1859._

_Em,_

_Absolutely. Whenever you’re ready. And thank you. I know it’s not easy._  
_And, yes, she is. The Outsider will take good care of her._  
_Also, now I'm finally expecting to hear all about the past few months in Dunwall, and in great detail, at that. Don’t think you’ll get to avoid the subject forever, young lady._

_Corvo_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Barely any daily discussion in these, but I wanted to focus on the conflict and also it's not like they'd be in the mood to discuss random day-to-day things before some sort of resolution for this whole shitstorm was in sight, yeah?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I needed some sap

Corvo was writing again.

Or trying to, at least—he sat still, staring blankly at some point on the table, looking but not seeing. Head propped against his hand, lightly tapping the wooden end of the pen on one of the few laid-out sheets of paper covered fully in looping letters of ink.

The letter that stood out from the rest of the papers with its different handwriting and only a paragraph’s worth of content lay aside, isolated, as if taunting in the way it attracted attention to itself. Daud made himself tear his eyes away as soon as he saw it, but his thoughts remained with it, and he was finding the process of peeling potatoes for the stew to be incredibly worthless in serving as a distraction. But he attempted to force himself to focus on something else. He had no business thinking about the thing even if he wanted to.

But he couldn’t possibly, try as he might, ignore it when it was affecting Corvo so glaringly.

The angle of the light from the overhead lamp accentuated the shadows under his eyes, making him look both exhausted and downcast as he kept staring at the table and tapping his pen, and Daud hated feeling so useless. _Hey,_ he’d say any other time, _what’s wrong?_ He might rub Corvo’s back, maybe kiss the crown of his head; _Take a break,_ he’d say, _it’s late._

Any other time. Without a second thought.

Even if he wanted to, he had no right to meddle in Corvo’s family business. None.

Her Majesty’s letter alone was enough to make him want to leave somewhere far away and not return until it was well out of his sight and forgotten. Its very presence was exhausting, it welled up uneasiness in his gut, but there was nothing Daud could do to push it out of his mind.

Whatever Corvo and his daughter were writing to each other—regarding him in one way or another, of course, he wasn’t stupid—it wasn’t pretty. It showed on Corvo’s face clear as day. It showed in his ever-so-slightly tensed jaw and shoulders, in the jittery manner with which he held the pen. If Corvo was distressed, then it was only fitting that Daud would be as well, at least to some degree. He supposed it could be seen as a sort of solidarity.

He hated it. It was depressing and frustrating and angering and he could only sit and wait for Corvo to finish writing and send the damn thing off and then maybe mope quietly (and not as discreetly as he'd probably like to think) for a couple of days and then everything would be alright again. Until Emily’s new reply, in any case.

Daud wished the stew required more potatoes for him to peel because, with only a couple remaining, this half-assed distraction of his was beginning to run out.

He realized how unsafely and jerkily he‘s been handling the knife only when the sound of the pen dropping on the table made him halt. The sound of a heavy sigh that followed made him look over his shoulder, only to find Corvo with his face in his hands, as if frozen in the moment of trying to rub off the exhaustion and whatever heartsore lodged itself in the creases of his face.

 _Corvo,_ Daud wanted to call, but his voice was stuck in his throat, scraping and grating his insides as it tried to tear out onto the surface to no avail. _Corvo, it’s alright—_

He had no idea. He couldn’t possibly say anything of the sort.

Corvo heaved another breath as he finally resumed and completed the motion of slowly rubbing his face, and when Daud stole another glance at him a minute later, those warm weary eyes were looking right back. 

And when whatever little pretense of normality in them melted away, exposing more and more of that obvious ache, Daud felt the most natural urge to pull Corvo into his arms if it had even a shred of a chance of putting him at ease from whatever was ailing him.

It seemed they both had the same idea. The man rose from his seat, his eyes still fixed in place, and Daud barely even registered dropping the knife into the sink to free up his hands when it only took a couple of moments for the other to cross the room over to his side.

Whatever the problem, the warmth of Corvo’s body against his never failed to soothe and reassure. Corvo’s breath tickled Daud’s neck as he so clearly sought the same kind of support.

Daud closed his eyes. Took a deep breath, tightening the lock of his arms around Corvo’s torso and pulling him closer into his space.

Perhaps this wasn’t enough, but it was something. Perhaps this could be of at least some help. It wasn't difficult to deduce the gist of the discussions Corvo was having with his daughter, and, at this point, dealing with the issue was as much Daud’s responsibility as it was Corvo’s. He might not have any right to intervene unless he was asked to, but at least he wouldn’t run.

The breath at his neck was noticeably slowing down, leveling out, and Daud realized that Corvo had been practically choked up mere moments ago. Corvo’s embrace tightened, hands clenched on the back of the other’s shirt, and in return Daud bowed his head to press his chin against his shoulder, rubbing slow circles into the small of his back.

Corvo’s voice was low and quiet, but at the same time came through with such a clarity it filled the surrounding space and tuned out all else.

“You know I love you, right? I love you so much.”

Daud wished he could pull him even closer, soak him up into his ribcage, keep him there safe and sound and with never any need of these quietly desperate assurances and confirmations.

_Oh, my dear._

“Yeah,” he croaked at last when he realized he didn’t give any verbal response. He shifted to press his lips to Corvo’s cheek, then his temple, feeling the man’s arms tightening around his body. “And I love you.”

_Oh, my dear, you have no idea._

Corvo’s sigh trembled against his skin and Daud only distantly heard himself shushing softly against his forehead as he brushed a hand up his back, rubbed at his spine, chased away the tension between his shoulder blades.

Perhaps there wasn’t much he could do, but that didn’t mean there was anything he wouldn’t do for him.

Corvo’s breathing synced up with Daud’s measured own as he gradually relaxed against him, fitting so perfectly in his arms, in his life— and Daud couldn’t even begin to possibly imagine it being any other way. And while, to this day, it still tended to feel too good to be true, having the right to call Corvo his own and getting the same in return was easily one of the truest things he’s ever known.

If only that were enough. For Corvo. For the life he’s had.

The breath froze in Daud’s throat when his eyes opened and once again fell on the papers scattered on the table, and he had to make a conscious effort to relax his suddenly tightened jaw, focusing on the way Corvo began dragging deliberate motions of a hand up and down his side. It coaxed a heavy sigh out of his lungs and he closed his eyes again, forcing himself to fall back into the shared sense of peace they’ve created.

But maybe this could, after all, be enough—just for the moment. Just for now.

Just for the time that Corvo’s hold around him stayed solid and resolute and in no hurry to loosen, Daud resolved to believe it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corvo is a little shook

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Okay so I guess reasonable and comprehensive chronology decided to fuck off after all, though I’m definitely gonna go back at some point and write some development stuff for Emily and Daud to fill in the gaps. This takes place a bit further into the future, a couple years or so, maybe? Just go with it :D)
> 
> This is written by the lovely Bobbinredrobin and translated from Russian by me, so all credit goes to her :^)

The fire was merrily crackling in the stove when Daud barged into the house, cutting off the cozy warmth from the howling blizzard of the inky Tyvian polar night with a firm slam of the door. Soft candlelight lit the room—Corvo, for reasons known only to him, preferred small flickering flames to the bright and steady glow of the gas lamps. 

With a quiet huff Daud shrugged off the heavy coat—droplets of the instantly melted snow went spilling from the fur collar—and, without looking, in a habitual gesture hung it on the hook by the door.

His frozen fingers prickled unpleasantly. He breathed on his hands and looked around in search of Corvo.

The man was on the couch—he was sitting on the very edge, unmoving, clutching a piece of paper in his hands. He looked like a wolfhound that was ready to break into a run at any moment.

Daud looked closer. Thick, cream-colored paper covered in sweeping handwriting, an envelope on the couch next to Corvo with blue wax and an Imperial seal.

A letter from Emily.

Something has happened.

Beside himself, in two long strides Daud crossed the room, snatched the letter from the other’s motionless fingers, read into the lines, stumbling over the turns and crooks of the handwriting—Her Majesty’s personal letters tended to be written quickly and often illegibly, impulsively—and lowered his eyes to Corvo’s tense figure.

The man lifted his gaze; his face clearly showed helpless bewilderment, and in his eyes blustered the question “why?”.

“Wyman,” he breathed out hoarsely, and Daud heard some kind of childish hurt in his voice, “Void, why did she decide to marry Wyman?”

Daud did not reply.

He mentally—slowly, clearly—counted to ten.

And only then burst into laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D Corvo’s gonna mope about this more clearly and in depth soon, ’s all good👌 
> 
> And thank you so much to Bobbinredrobin for letting me use this treasure <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corvo is a little shook pt 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Lostsoul512 and Bobbinredrobin —> yall stop fueling my sentimental corvo needs smh

The longer Corvo lay awake and played staring contest with the ceiling in the dark, the more it felt like he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep any time soon.

“Daud.”

No reply came from Daud’s side of the bed; only his slow, measured breathing filled the room. Any other time Corvo would have hated to wake him, but this was a special instance. He was going to get eaten by his own thoughts if he kept them all in his head.

The next time he called him (louder, sharper), Daud stirred and tried to roll away with a half-conscious groan, but Corvo’s light shake of his shoulder kept him from immediately going back to sleep. He dragged a hand over his face and squinted at the man.

“Huh?”

Corvo didn’t really know where to begin, all he knew was that he needed to talk. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Daud frowned. “About what?”

“The letter.”

With a small sigh, Daud turned his head to take a look at the clock on the bedside table, and then plopped back down on the pillow. 

“It’s three in the morning.”

“My daughter is getting _married,_ Daud.”

Daud merely looked like he was ready to go back to sleep at once, and wasn’t shy about showing it, either, when he turned back to his side and tucked his arm under the pillow. “About time,” he mumbled as he nestled down, and Corvo didn’t get enough time to try and object. “She’s, what, thirty? Thirty-two?”

The back of Corvo’s throat made an abrupt, ambiguous sound. He took a moment to try and let the words properly sink in. That came without much success—why he found this obvious piece of information difficult to process, he didn’t know.

He stayed still and continued peering at the ceiling through the dark. A couple of moments of silence later, Daud stirred again and turned over his shoulder to look at him, likely having expected some sort of reply. 

Corvo absently fiddled with the edge of the blanket as he continued staring into space.

“Void,” he finally muttered. “She’s all grown up.”

Daud raised an eyebrow in a show of amused confusion. “Uh… Yeah?”

The notion grew in weight by the second, gained form and texture, and finally dawned on Corvo with the force of something falling on his head.

“All grown up,” he repeated, voice quiet with absent wonder. “An adult. A woman in her thirties. What— Where did the time go?”

A soft chuckle came from Daud’s side of the bed, and the mattress dipped as he shifted once again into a more comfortable position. “Corvo, is it really necessary to have your sentimental hour in the dead of night?”

“I remember when she barely even reached my knees—” Corvo raised his hand to show how high off the ground that would be, but then remembered he was lying down and dropped it back on the bed.

Daud’s speech slurred a little with sleepy haziness. “Well she’s a bit taller than that now, isn’t she?”

“…Or when she was just learning to walk. It feels like yesterday.”

“Hmm.”

“She had to grow up so fast.”

And no matter how old she got, she would always be his little girl. His little empress.

But, alas, actually little she was not, and empresses had certain responsibilities. At times, Corvo would find himself wishing that an unmarried monarch like Jessamine was a normal occurrence, rather than an exception of custom.

Wyman was a solid choice, in that regard—the political connections and influences his family entertained in Morley were highly sought after, earning him a spot fairly high up on the list of potential matches. Corvo hadn’t given it much thought when the boy and Emily began a relationship back in the day—it was mostly the advisors, or Callista, who liked to praise his family’s standing and wealth, and Corvo brushed off her reminders about such. That didn’t concern him at the time. Emily needed space to do as she liked, to have at least some taste of a regular girl’s life, to be able to chase after attraction and perhaps even love without having to worry about titles and advantageous political connections for a while. Corvo liked to think that she got some of that with Wyman.

He never really considered that she was actually going to marry the guy.

Now that he thought about it, however, he didn’t really see why she wouldn’t. 

And yet. “And now she wants to get married.”

Daud opened one of his eyes, briefly, and soon closed it back up. “That’s good, no? She’s the empress, after all.”

“I know, I just... it’s difficult to wrap my mind around.”

“It’ll be fine,” Daud said, and the slightly dismissive tone of the words didn’t sit entirely well with Corvo. “It’s not all that big of a deal.”

_“Not a big deal?”_

There wasn’t enough time for Corvo’s incredulity to form into any more words: “You didn’t think she’d never have to marry, did you? It’s like the very idea is unthinkable to you.”

“Of course not, it’s just—”

“So what’s the problem?”

Corvo felt like he was put on the spot, and didn’t know what exactly he wanted to say. He pulled in a breath to gather his thoughts. “I’m just saying—she shouldn’t be making any rash decisions.”

Daud hummed softly. “And how do you know it’s a rash decision?”

“And how do you know it isn’t? This isn’t something to be taken lightly, okay, and I should be there with her whenever major changes to her life are taking place—”

“Corvo. She’s a big girl, you even said that yourself. She’s perfectly capable of deciding what to do with her life on her own.”

“But she shouldn’t _be_ on her own—”

“That’s not what I mean—”

“—I need to be there with her, and we need to go to Dunwall.”

A short moment’s silence did nothing to dissuade him from this decision.

“Oh, Void.”

“Don’t ‘Oh, Void’ me, Daud, this is serious.”

With a sound of something between a low chuckle and a groan, Daud scooted closer to Corvo and slung an arm over him. “Alright,” he said, pinning Corvo down as if the man was about to zoom out of bed and straight over to the harbor at any second. “How about you sleep on this first, hm?”

Corvo scoffed. “I don’t need to _sleep on_ one of the most important decisions in my daughter’s life.”

“In your life, you mean.”

“What?”

Even in the darkness Corvo could see the pointedly amused look in Daud’s eyes. “You heard me. You don’t want to let go of her, that’s all. I get that.”

“Pft, please, that’s not—”

“That’s precisely what this is.”

Corvo snorted. “Oh, look who’s an expert all of a sudden. What do you know about this? It’s not like Billie ever got married, so don’t go telling me.”

Daud rolled his eyes. “Look. I may not know much about parenting, but I know you. And I know that you want to hold on to Emily as much as you can.” 

Corvo cautiously raised an eyebrow. He felt there was something else.

“And?”

“Well…” Daud delayed for a second and then added, quieter, “And that maybe you’re overreacting. Just a little bit.”

A noise pushed through Corvo’s throat, resembling another scoff of disbelief or surprise. “I,” he echoed in an incredulous tone that was, purposefully, slightly exaggerated, “am overreacting?”

“I’m just saying,” Daud began to slowly run his palm back and forth over Corvo’s side. The somewhat placating manner of him rubbed Corvo the wrong way, just a little. “It’s late, you’ve had a long day, you miss Emily. Maybe it’d be better to think about all of this with a clear head, during the day.”

Maybe it was indeed his need for sleep that was at play, because Corvo’s sudden desire to argue won over his sense of logic. “Oh. I see. I’m just being irrational. Irrational in being concerned for my daughter. Well, then, thank you for your time.”

Daud clicked his tongue softly, and when Corvo made a move to get out of bed, scooted in closer as if to hold him in place.

“Corvo.” The hold around him was mostly figural, and Corvo easily wriggled out of it. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

Daud’s hand stayed on Corvo’s forearm as the latter sat up. He briefly rolled his eyes. “I’m not gonna fucking run off to the docks, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Daud sighed, but let him go, and then rolled onto his back and dragged a hand over his face as Corvo left the room.

In the kitchen, Corvo poured himself a cup of water and leaned against the counter as he sipped. He just needed a moment to cool off, he thought, get his mind in order. Daud was right, probably—it was indeed late and he was going to solve nothing by stressing himself out now. 

And yet, he just couldn’t win over his uneasiness. He couldn’t tell exactly why. 

A couple minutes later his thoughts drifted to Daud. Corvo managed to get only a few seconds of being envious of the highly likely possibility that he was already fast asleep, before the man in question appeared in the kitchen, rubbing his eyes and visibly close to yawning. He lit one of the lamps (which made Corvo feel a little silly about standing around in complete dark), then went over to the pantry and took out the whiskey bottle and two tumblers.

Arms crossed, Corvo watched him pour the drinks in silence, and then took his glass when Daud handed it to him and then leaned his hip against the counter, looking at Corvo with an expectant arch of a brow.

So he decided to talk about this, after all. Corvo took a sip.

“He’s not good enough for her,” he said.

Daud moved over to the table, offering with a nod of his head for Corvo to join him and sit down as well. “She’s the empress. No one will be good enough for her, as far as you’re concerned.”

Corvo accepted the invitation, settled comfortably in his chair and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “It’s not even that,” he muttered. “She’s my daughter.”

And, indeed, no one would be good enough for his little girl.

They sat in silence for a while, and Corvo rolled the drink around in his glass as he thought back to the good old days. The funny thing was, no matter how much Emilly had grown and how many Empire-wide responsibilities were dumped on her plate and how wide her influence over the lands had stretched, he still always saw her as his precious, wonderful, beautiful little child. Just his. He didn’t see that changing any time soon.

“It seems… Seems like only yesterday she could fit in my arms.”

“She hasn’t been a child for a long time, Corvo.”

“I know. I know, I just...”

He trailed off and shook his head, then took a slow sip. 

Daud’s eyes softened. 

“You don’t want to let her go.”

“No.” The word was sudden, almost harsh in its quickness. “No, I don’t.”

But that wasn’t exactly up to him, and thinking about it didn’t make the memories of giving little Emily piggy-back rides and watching her draw houses and stick figures any less distant.

He sadly thought back to one of the portraits she’d drawn for him over those years. It was too big to take with him, unfortunately, but at least he strictly forbade the servants from moving anything in his chambers when he left, and it would always be waiting for him there. He did take a smaller drawing, though—a green and purple tiger that was currently hanging on the wall above the couch. Emily was seven, it was the first drawing she made to test a new box of good crayons Corvo had given her.

How exactly he was supposed to accept the prospect of his baby getting married, he had no idea.

“I mean—” he went on, pushing his train of thought towards a subject matter that was, for the moment, more comprehensible. “Sure, she and Wyman have been together for a long time, but I never even considered the idea of marriage. I mean, in general, of course I did—she’s the empress, after all—but with Wyman—?”

Daud sipped on his drink and then propped his chin on his hand. “And what’s wrong with Wyman?”

Corvo didn’t have much of an answer. Or, rather, he had no words to explain it with.

“He’s just…” He looked somewhere off to the side, idly drumming his fingers on the table to help him come up with coherent thoughts. It was a wasted effort.

“You haven’t had any problems with them dating, as far as I know.”

“Dating is one thing. Marriage is another.”

Leaning back in his chair, Daud took another sip and licked his lips. “Is it really, though, in this case? They’ve been at it for how long, nearing a decade? If anything, I’m a bit surprised it’s only now they’re deciding to make it official.”

Corvo took a sip of his own and tapped his fingers on the side of the glass, his mouth pressed into a line. “Somehow, I’m finding it hard to believe Emily deliberately took ten years to think this decision over. So why now?”

“Maybe they’ve just been putting off the responsibility and only now feel ready to get serious.”

That seemed very plausible, Corvo hated to admit. He understood that in theory, of course. In practice, though, he was a man of a different kind of action—had he the right to ask for Jessamine’s hand, he would have done so in a heartbeat, without hesitation.

Now that he thought about it, perhaps that was the problem.

“Isn’t it a little suspicious,” he mused aloud, “that Wyman hasn’t proposed until now?”

Daud raised an eyebrow and tilted his head slightly to the side. “Are you trying to question the earnestness of his intent now?”

The shrug Corvo gave in response was slow and ambiguous, as if to say he wasn’t trying to imply anything dubious on purpose.

“You know,” Daud said, “I can’t really tell if you’ve got an actual issue with Wyman, or just the idea of Emily getting married, or both.”

 _Both,_ Corvo wanted to confirm, but he knew that wasn’t true. And, he was almost sure, so did Daud.

Wyman was a respectable young man. Well educated, trustworthy, responsible—as far as young men went, in any case. From what Corvo has seen over the years, he treated Emily as well as anyone should, and Emily herself hasn’t complained and even claimed to love him. But she’d said the same nearly a decade ago, and with the life she led back then, it was hardly something to be taken seriously. Now, though, especially considering the fact that she stuck with that outlook for years, Corvo was much more willing to trust that she knew what she wanted from life. He also had no doubt that she put much more value on the lands and titles to Wyman’s name than she ever could in the past.

Wyman himself, however, was away overseas on business more often in recent years than was convenient in order to get an accurate read on him. Sure, perhaps he did truly love Emily. The devotion he’s shown over the years wasn’t purely that of chasing after status, after all—that much Corvo could see with no problem.

But would he be able to protect her? Would he die for her, if need be?

Corvo didn’t know, and if that was the criteria for judging Emily’s every potential suitor, he thought, then they were right back where they started.

“I don’t know,” he said after a while. Any argument he could try to come up with would feel useless, wouldn’t ring true. “Ultimately, he’s just a boy.”

“As Emily is, ultimately, just a girl.” Amusement colored Daud’s tone. A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth; in his eyes was warmth, some sort of understanding.

Corvo sighed, then dragged his hands over his face. 

This was difficult.

Emily was indeed just a girl. His girl. His girl that had to be given space to make her own decisions and her own mistakes.

His girl that was now going into her fourth decade. And only now Corvo felt the weight of this realization truly dawning on him. It was terrifying.

“What do I do?” he muttered despite already knowing, just because he wanted to hear assurance from a steady voice of reason that wasn't his own.

Daud let out a soft chuckle, carefree and nonchalant, and it was almost enough to make Corvo believe that the solution was right there in front of him.

“Just let her do what she wants,” Daud said.

“Oh, it sounds so simple, doesn’t it.”

Emily was at an age where there wasn’t really anything Corvo could forbid her to do. And even if he could, he wouldn’t. Her choice was perfectly reasonable, most likely well thought out after all, considered over the years. It made political sense. It was something she needed to do to properly further the family line. It would give her a family of her own. It was simply something she wanted.

It wasn’t her problem that Corvo was going to struggle with getting over the conflicting jealousy-like feeling of seeing their tightly knit family branch out.

Perhaps something similar was a small part of what Emily felt when she found out about Daud and him.

“Well, yes, and I’ll even say you have it simpler than others,” Daud told him. “You aren’t made to watch her leave to Void knows where with someone you barely know. She’s staying right where she is. Nothing’s really changing. Well, although,” he cocked his head then, “aside from some ankle biters you may get to see running around soon enough.”

It really didn’t sound so bad when he put it like that. A tiny part of Corvo was irked by how quickly the severity of the situation was being lifted, how easily his subconscious was willing to see the favorable outcome. But he focused on the logic of it all instead. And, logic wise, not only did it not sound bad, but it also sounded like a pretty damn good-case scenario.

And then, as Daud said, there was the prospect of children. Proper, all-around legitimate heirs.

Thumbing his forgotten glass, he heaved a sigh.

“Grandkids sound nice,” he muttered, quietly, as if in reluctance.

Daud grinned like he just won a difficult argument with ease. “See? There you go.”

“That doesn’t mean—”

“Of course it does. And grasping at straws will get you nowhere.” The warm, knowing smile he wore was incredibly reassuring, and Corvo was almost disappointed with how effortlessly it was putting him at more and more ease. At the same time, he was relieved and thankful—and that was a stronger feeling.

Still, he sighed and rubbed his face, mostly for the sake of making a show of being stubborn.

“Fine,” he grumbled. “Maybe you’re right.”

 _Of course I’m right,_ Daud’s raised eyebrow said. The man himself said, “Yeah, yeah, and now I’d suggest leaving your closing arguments for tomorrow and going back to bed.”

“We’ll see if I even have any,” Corvo muttered as he watched Daud rising from his seat and beginning to clear the table.

“I’m sure you will.”

Corvo snorted softly. Perhaps he needed to work on being less predictable.

Although, who knew, maybe in the morning he’d feel much better about all of this. At this rate, it didn’t sound all that improbable.

And maybe now he’d have an easier time falling asleep.

“We’re still going to Dunwall, though,” he said when he caught sight of Daud on the man’s way to the sink.

Daud broke into another grin and, resigned, shook his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HFGJDJHG
> 
> Let corvo be dramatic


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emily visits Tyvia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woot woot
> 
> (Takes place a few months after that letter exchange between Corvo and Emily)

Corvo came to meet them at the docks.

He was alone; that in itself was a comfort that eased the tightness under Emily’s sternum. 

She saw him from the deck of the imperial yacht, threw a brief glance at their baggage handler to check that her things were being held on to, and raced down the boarding ramp to crash into his arms. 

“Em,” he breathed into her hair as he held her, and Emily grinned into the collar of his coat. She returned his crushing hug, closed her eyes and pressed into him. He smelled like home.

When they pulled apart, Corvo took her by the shoulders and gave her a thorough look-over. 

“You cut your hair,” he noted and ran his fingers through a strand of her bob.

“Oh, yeah. A little while ago. What do you think?”

“I like it.”

A fond smile was deepening the lines around his eyes. It was contagious, Emily returned it, beaming, before pulling him into another hug.

“I missed you,” she breathed.

“I missed you too,” he said, and squeezed her tighter. “Void, how many months has it been?”

Emily didn’t get a chance to reply, because she soon heard footsteps approaching from behind and Corvo raised his head, scoffing as they pulled apart again. “Ah, I see you did as I said for once.”

“Lord Corvo,” Martha greeted with a grin. “Yes, yes, don’t fret, she brought me along… Only as a formality, mind you, but what can you do.”

Emily laughed; Corvo gave a lighthearted click of his tongue as he reached over to take Emily’s bag from Martha and shook her freed hand. “Well, I guess it’s better than nothing. It’s good to see you, Martha.”

“Likewise. How’ve you been?”

“Good, good. But—first things first. You two must be famished.”

“Well,” Emily glanced over at Martha to gauge her opinion, “we ate, but that was a while ago.”

“Then that’s settled. Let’s get you checked in and drop off your things, and then we can have dinner. There’s this fantastic place by the hotel...”

They fell into step, heading for the cabs. Emily wound her arm around Corvo’s, partly in delight of reunion, partly for warmth. It wasn’t nearly as cold as she imagined it tended to get in Tyvia, but it was still quite chilly, though not to the point of being too unpleasant. She was dressed well for the weather; all in all, it was a lovely spring day.

“You sure you want me to come along?” Martha suddenly asked. “No doubt you two want to spend time together—”

Emily was about to object, but Corvo was quicker. He looked at Martha like he just heard the stupidest thing.

“Oh, please. There’ll be plenty of time for that, and this isn’t a discussion. Besides,” he added with a smirk, “how do you expect me to let you run off? I haven’t bothered you in months!”

“That is true,” Martha laughed. “We can fix that.”

“Now that’s what I like to hear,” he said, and they continued on their way.

*

They had a wonderful time.

Corvo also stayed in the hotel so that he didn’t have to spend time on commute, and they took a few days to catch up and to let Emily get a feel for the city, visiting various places Corvo deemed necessary. Aside from being recognized here and there as the Empress of the Isles, the time spent truly felt like a vacation, and Emily took as much of it in as she could while she had the chance.

It’s been so long since she got to spend time with her father without imperial duties hovering over either of them. That, as well as the change of scenery, was incredibly refreshing.

But she didn’t come here for the scenery.

She and Corvo were having brunch at his favorite place that served terrific eggs benedict. They hadn’t yet made plans for the day, which turned out to be intentional when Corvo swirled the coffee in his cup, set it down, and then folded his hands in an unusually decisive manner.

“So,” he dragged out. Just slightly, his brows were apprehensively lowered. “Think it’s about time I showed you where I live, hm? What do you say?”

That wasn’t exactly what he meant and they both knew it. Emily took great care to keep her expression impassive as she finished the last of her food and washed it down with coffee. When she was ready to speak, she took a small breath.

“I suppose.”

Despite being quiet, her words fell firm and sure. She raised her eyes to Corvo’s then, partly to don an air of calm resoluteness, partly to reassure herself that he wanted the best for her, and that everything was still—supposedly—alright.

She blinked, quickly snuffing out any treacherous remainders of doubt that dared invade her mind now. She’s thought at length about all of this already. She didn’t need reassuring.

“Emily,” Corvo tried, quiet and almost tentative. Emily didn’t quite know what to make of the earnestness in his eyes, whether to be warmed and soothed by it or to repel it. “Just meet him. Talk to him. Give it a chance.”

“Yes, yes, you’ve said it all before.”

She’s thought at length about all of this already. She didn’t _need_ reassuring.

The hesitant ghost of a smile at the corner of his mouth did little to dispel the melancholy on his face. That hint of old sadness in his look that topics like this brought out. Emily could tell it was difficult to mask it—maybe he wasn’t even trying anymore, maybe he had no more energy for it. 

She felt ashamed of her brusqueness, of making him feel like this all over again.

She glanced down at her cup of coffee, nearly empty by now, then gave a few shallow nods and tried again. “Yes. Alright.” Raising her eyes to Corvo’s once more, she responded with a small smile of her own. Quick, just a trace. That was appropriate. “When?”

Emily didn’t think she imagined the subtle flicker of relief on Corvo’s face. “Whenever you want. It’s your call.”

There was no point in tarrying. She shrugged slightly. “Today?”

“Sure. Yeah.”

Emily nodded and hurried to finish her coffee before it went cold.

*

They went soon after.

They didn’t speak much. There was no point in mulling stale thoughts over and over again, it would accomplish nothing, so Emily pushed them all down as best she could. She scooted closer to Corvo in the train, leaning against him. It gave her a smidgen of calm but she knew Corvo needed this contact more, that all of this weighed hardest on his shoulders. She let him wrap an arm around her and hold her as she idly looked out the window.

The house he brought her to looked charming. Not too big, not too small. Fairly simple. Inviting. Emily could easily see how Corvo would find this appealing; what she was having trouble with was picturing the rightful owner of this abode fitting in here.

“Here we are,” Corvo said as he unlocked the door. A sudden puff of cool wind served as an excuse for Emily to wrap her arms around herself before taking a step inside.

It was nice. It was a nice dwelling, she wasn’t going to dispute that. If asked, she’d easily admit to having rare thoughts of _what if,_ how she’d sometimes wonder what a quiet and peaceful life like this could have looked like.

Corvo made a move to help her with her coat, but she waved him off gently with a polite smile. “No, thanks,” she said. “It’s still a bit chilly.”

It wasn’t, but she didn’t dwell on that. Corvo hummed in compliance and lightly squeezed her shoulder, and (without taking off his own coat) asked, “You want anything? Tea, water? More coffee?”

“Water’s good, yeah.”

He went to the kitchen area, and Emily still hovered by the door, glancing around the room's furnishings.

“It’s a really nice place,” she said.

“Right? Great space. Incredibly cozy.” Corvo poured her a glass of water, and she came a bit closer to take it from him with an appreciative hum. 

As she continued to look around she heard movement somewhere in the back of the house, and, in unintentional synchrony, Corvo turned his head to the doorway supposedly leading to the other rooms and raised his voice.

“Daud!”

The door opened; he stayed in the doorway, leaned slightly against the frame and greeted Corvo with a soft hum of acknowledgment, then turned his eyes to Emily and nodded.

“Your Majesty.”

The weight of that nod, the tone of his voice. She wasn’t familiar enough with his voice to be able to tell for sure, but he seemed somber.

It took the entirety of her will to respond with a shallow nod of her own.

She didn’t keep her eyes on him for longer than a couple of moments, forcing herself to focus instead on drinking her water and listening to the sound of the running faucet as Corvo washed his hands.

“I’m gonna head back into the city for a bit,” Corvo announced then.

It was no surprise he was leaving. It was probably for the best, too. Still, Emily turned her head to him and replied, manner perfectly conversational: “You are?”

“Yeah, got some things to take care of,” he said on the exhale as he dried his hands, then went to the back rooms, brushing Daud with a glance and a touch on the arm along the way. He picked up some things, according to the sound of drawers being used, and soon came back out and went to the door. “Be back tonight.” He rubbed Emily’s upper arm briefly, looking like he was refraining from saying anything more, then hummed in affirmation when she said her good-bye, threw one more glance at Daud, and went out.

When the door clicked shut behind him, neither of them moved from their spots. Emily took another sip, then dragged her eyes around the room before finally settling them on the man, where she then kept them, silently, steadily.

Those eyes of his looked right back. She didn’t quite know what she saw in them.

Finally, after what felt like minutes, she felt she’s held an uncomfortable pause for long enough.

“I’m only doing this for Corvo,” she said.

For a few more seconds, Daud did not speak. Then, he lowered his eyes to the floor in a nod.

“I understand.”

He looked... homey. A simple shirt, long sleeves pushed up to the elbows. Simple pants. Even despite his fighter’s physique and that scar on his face, one wouldn’t think this man was once the cause of so many’s nightmares.

Emily wondered passingly whether he had truly left that life behind, or if he still kept stashes of elixirs and gadgets alike those she’s seen from time to time in Corvo’s arsenals.

She seriously doubted it was the former.

For a while they said nothing else, but they had all day after all.

Finally, Daud pushed off the doorframe and walked over to the kitchen area to begin fiddling in drawers and cupboards in a purposeful manner.

“Tea?” he offered, angling his head in her direction, only slightly with his back towards her.

Emily scoffed internally at the glass of water in her hand. “Sure,” she said despite not caring for drink at the moment.

Her eyes drifted to his left hand as she watched him prepare the tea for the both of them. Just like Corvo’s, Daud’s Mark hasn’t faded with time, standing out against the skin with its sharp, inky black.

She wondered, then, how capable he was at this point in his life. If, were she to pull out her throwing knife and fling it at him, aiming to pin that very hand to the counter, he would see it coming and evade.

For a moment, she was glad that she hadn’t recognized him six years ago: back then she may have been stupid enough to actually try to test that theory. She didn’t suppose it would have ended well for her.

“Sugar?” 

_What fucking difference does it make?_ “No,” she said tiredly, growing annoyed with the inappropriate casualness of the exchange. Daud showed no reaction to the dry edge in her voice and finished up, then placed the two cups on the opposite sides of the table and took a seat.

Emily looked at him, at his loose and yet simultaneously tense posture, as he took a slow sip of his tea. He looked back at her, and Emily wondered what he was expecting to hear—though she could probably guess. 

“I don’t know what to say to you,” she finally said, quiet and level, an accusation in its own right.

Daud thumbed the handle of his cup, the creases on his brow deepening. He’s aged in the face since she last saw him. 

“I’m sure you have an idea,” he muttered.

That drew a huff out of her. Oh, sure, she had an idea. Only, the years of fear and grief and rage have grown so stale and tiring, all she felt now was some numb mixture of dry hollowness and disdain. 

She stood still for a minute longer, then finally made a move toward the table. She hadn’t planned on sitting down, but, she supposed, she might as well.

Unbuttoning her coat only to be able to sit comfortably without the thick fabric bunching up, she lowered herself into a chair, crossed her legs, and, tapping her foot on the floor, looked around the room again. Some elements of the place unmistakably screamed Corvo, and once more Emily found herself struggling to wrap her mind around the fact that this was what all of their lives have come to.

“Did he forgive you?” Emily asked, straight to the point but purposefully casual in tone as her wandering eyes settled on one of the shelves that housed books and other, smaller things.

Even without looking at him straight on she could feel the deliberation, the way he was carefully picking words. 

“Forgiveness isn’t something easily given, Your Majesty.”

Oh, no, no. She wanted straight answers, and that was exactly what she would get. She would hear it from him directly. 

Her tone grew irked. “Did he?”

A moment. Another. “No.”

“Good.” It was strangely satisfying, that natural, almost involuntary cold in her voice. “At least you seem to know better than to expect it.” 

“I’m not expecting anything, Your Majesty.”

Right away, Emily snapped her eyes back to Daud’s, pinning them in place. “Do you refer to me as Majesty when you’re with Corvo, too?”

His brow twitched, he closed his eyes for a moment, eyelids tense. Emily decided to interpret it as shame. “No.”

“Then quit it. Since we’re all _family_ now.”

Saying the word felt like spitting in his face. Daud must have felt the same—his jaw tightened in that same expression of shame and Emily’s lip curled back in an involuntary sneer. It was well-placed, and yet, somewhere deep down, her acridity worried her. 

Still, she would not let him distance himself. He would call her by name and look her in the eye and not hide behind pretenses.

“If it were up to me,” she went on, speaking slowly, making use of the bitterness boiling in the pit of her stomach to fuel her years-old thoughts into being, “I would have had my men hunt you down like dogs as soon as I learned who you were.”

Daud did not avert his eyes and Emily felt some sort of approval at that. His voice was quiet and, just as his expression, somber and a shade of resigned. “You have every right,” he said, sounding despondent. Almost broken. “I’d come quietly. You can still do that.”

An unkind laugh croaked in Emily’s chest. “Oh, but I’m afraid not. Now that you’re safe and untouchable, hidden behind whatever Corvo feels for you, I can’t. How convenient for you that I’m not willing to hurt my father for my own gain.”

Daud did not reply, just resolutely held the reconciled face of someone awaiting their sentence. Tension settled and grew in Emily’s throat, it spread to her lips, almost numbing, and she distinctly felt the corners of her mouth creeping downwards into a grimace of ire or disgust.

She was suddenly glad that Corvo left them alone for the day. He didn’t need to hear any of this. Words bubbled up with little control, completely ignoring what she may or may not have planned to say to this man for all this time. “You know, when Corvo told me about you all this time ago, for a moment, just for a moment, I considered throwing him out on the streets. I wish I never had, it isn’t my proudest moment by any means. And yet. For a moment, I couldn’t stand him. Because how dare he. How dare _you.”_

There was something strangely gratifying about the way he was just letting her speak. Keeping himself at her mercy with that clear willingness to take anything she would throw at him.

“Life tends to take unexpected turns, doesn’t it?”

Despite everything Corvo has told her, the idea of him and Daud together remained as the wildest turn of events she’s had to come to grips with. She still couldn’t.

_“Doesn’t it?”_

Daud gave a slow and stiff nod, forced out an affirmative. He looked crushed, as if she’s literally walked all over him. And that wasn’t nearly the worst of it, Emily thought with an internal derisive scoff, she could spit so much at him— _tell me, was it exciting, fucking my father behind my back on that ship? Was it thrilling?_

She was tempted to voice that out loud, just to see what reaction that would earn her. But that wasn’t the main issue at hand, and Emily didn’t let herself waste time with it. Not yet, anyway.

She had no words of banal accusation for him. Not anymore. She’s carried that hurt for years and at this point it was sickening and exhausting, she didn’t come here just to glare and state the obvious. 

Corvo had told her about Daud’s guilt and she saw it clear as day in his eyes at this very moment. She didn’t want to pointlessly reiterate dumb words of hatred. She didn’t want apologies. Daud’s killed many mothers, she wasn’t the only lucky child in that regard. And she couldn’t speak for all those lucky children even if she wanted to.

But— the _Empress_ of the motherfucking _Isles?_

“Why did you do it?”

For a brief moment, Daud closed his eyes, the corners of his mouth tense. 

Emily held full confidence in not needing to specify, and wasn’t disappointed. 

“Money.”

It gave a sense of finality, as strange as it was, to finally hear it out of his mouth. Emily appreciated that kind of curt and direct answer, it was… dignified, somehow. Honest and transparent. And it was relieving, the primary confirmation that the murder of her parent wasn’t personal, and simply infuriating at the same time, that at the peak of her mother’s life, after everything she’s done, her blood flowed just to fill someone else’s pockets.

Emily felt her fingers tensing; suddenly she didn’t know where to put her hands, so she reached for the cup of her untouched tea. A single sip made her grimace, and she set the cup back down with the hand that began shaking out of nowhere.

_Shit._

“Do you have something stronger?” she snapped, without quite meaning to, and placed her elbow on the table to rub the bridge of her nose and eyes in both an act of emotional exhaustion and an excuse to not have to look at Daud.

The man rose from his seat and went back to the kitchen, and Emily took a couple of deep breaths and clenched her hands into fists a few times to try to calm the trembling.

She heard Daud opening the door of the pantry, with a pause following.

“Whiskey okay?” he asked in a moment.

“That’s perfect.”

Emily felt stifled. She shrugged off her coat, stood up to hang it on the back of her chair and then sat back down. Leaned back, crossed her legs, folded her arms tightly over her chest. She stared at the table for a time, chewing idly on her lip while she listened as Daud got out the bottle and the tumblers. 

She deliberately continued not looking at him as he came back to the table and took to filling their glasses.

The unsaid question born more than a decade ago floated up to the surface, demanded attention, sizzled and burned on Emily’s tongue—and then spilled out, both prematurely and terribly overdue.

“How much was she worth?”

In her periphery, she saw how Daud’s hand suddenly stilled, and she raised her eyes to his face, getting a good look at his furrowed brows and tightened lips and tensely lowered eyelids.

He had a hoarse voice as it was. It seemed even more so now, when he finally spoke. Pleading, perhaps, or in warning. 

“Emily—”

_How much is an Empress worth?_

_How much was my mother worth?_

_How much?_

“Answer the question, Daud.”

He finished with her glass and Emily snatched it up, setting it before her as she continued glaring with narrowed eyes. She wondered if he was going to move away, sit back down, but he stayed where he was.

She hadn’t thought it was possible for his voice to drop even lower, but, oh, it did. “They offered me fifty thousand.”

A bark of a laugh tore out of Emily’s throat.

Her head turned away on its own; she shook it absently, staring blankly into the fact that she was supposed to fit the life of Jessamine Kaldwin into such measly numbers—or any number at all. 

“Fifty—”

“I told them I didn’t know who they were taking me for.”

She didn’t know if that was supposed to make her feel better. Daud finally sat back down with a prolonged, heavy sigh and Emily took a hefty gulp of whiskey, cringing at the burn. 

“And?” she croaked.

“I demanded they at least double the amount.”

The lingering grimace from the hard alcohol turned into that of aversion, pressed lips and clenched eyes and white-knuckled grip on the glass. “You _haggled.”_

“We settled on a hundred and twenty.”

“You _haggled_ over my mother’s life—”

“I haggled over a lot of people’s lives, girl—”

“Don’t you fucking call me that.”

“—it’s part of the damn job. You wanted to hear the price on your mother’s head, you got it.”

He had no right to be angry with her. No fucking right.

“A hundred and twenty thousand? Is that what an empress is worth? What about me, then?”

“Emily—”

“How much would you agree to kill me for—?”

“Emily, I don’t _do_ that anymore. I don’t kill people anymore. Not for money.”

The silence felt too empty in the absence of their raised voices, and Emily made up for it with trying to pour all the contempt she could muster into a glare and burn it into Daud’s eyes for good.

Then, she pulled in a deep breath through her nose and gritted her teeth.

“I want to know,” she said, quietly, her words almost a hiss, “how exactly you made the decision.”

She didn’t, really, but she felt that she had to.

Daud looked back at her for a moment, his own eyes tired and spent, before rubbing his temples and taking a sip of his whiskey. He sighed once more, brows furrowed as if it hurt him. “I told you. I demanded more. I got it.”

Emily held a pause that pressed for him to say more.

“Those of my men who disagreed, who thought I was going too far—I told them we had no choice. Mentioned the Abbey. That shut them up for good.”

Emily shook her head slightly, aimlessly, incredulously, almost without registering it. “What a greedy, steaming piece of shit you are—”

“It was a hefty sum.”

“Indeed it was.”

He heaved another labored sigh, as if in pain. “And it was a long time ago.”

Emily scoffed. Loudly. “Oh, you’re trying to tell me you’ve changed?”

“I wouldn’t be sitting here right now if I hadn’t.”

Emily closed her eyes and rubbed her face. She couldn’t deny, she knew it was the truth, as evidenced by… quite a few things, really. She could hear it in Daud’s voice and see it in his body language: that genuine strain, the discomfort of digging up the past one would like to bury and forget for good. All things considered, his unwillingness to sugarcoat and instead say things as they were was unexpected—one could say it was the least he could do, but in a world where most kept looking out for themselves no matter what, it was even commendable.

Once again, Emily couldn’t help but appreciate the candidness. The inherent crudeness of it. There was something admirable about it, whether she liked it or not. The truth was rarely pretty, but its delivery could sometimes be, in its own strange way.

A minute passed, maybe five. Time dragged slowly, sluggish through such heavy air.

Rolling another sip of whiskey on her tongue, Emily hitched a shoulder in an aimless shrug. She suddenly found no energy in herself left to argue.

“Was it worth it, at least?” in a spent voice, she asked for lack of a better question.

She supposed she knew what the answer was.

Daud wasn’t even looking at her anymore. He sounded deathly exhausted. “Emily, it was the worst mistake of my life.”

Emily looked at him, at that withered scar, at those pained old eyes, and she believed him.

They sat in silence for an uncomfortably long time.

*

At some point, the table began filling up with various edibles and the selection grew over time. Crackers. Cheese. Caviar and savory tart shells to pair it with. Chocolates. Emily vaguely remembered Daud offering her some actual food in order to not drink on a (moderately) empty stomach, and vaguely remembered herself refusing, so now, she supposed, they were snacking instead.

The caviar was terrific. It was of the highest quality in itself, and, she supposed, eating a traditionally Tyvian product in Tyvia made it even better.

Alcohol also tended to lighten her mood somewhat, as tested time and time again, and now was no exception, so Emily took that opportunity to try and see the overall picture of her position in brighter hues. Well, the caviar also helped. She was almost tempted to go out of her way to say just how much she enjoyed it, when she realized she already did that once a little while ago.

At this point she could only wish for a good cigar.

Emily leaned back in her chair, rocked her tumbler from side to side to watch how the amber liquid rose and fell against the sides of the glass, the color deep and saturated in the warm light of the lamps. The days were still short despite almost all the snow having been melted—night fell early and fast, it grew dark outside and incredibly homey on the inside and Emily was starting to fully embrace the beauty of living in a place like this.

She could certainly see why Corvo would like it.

Ideally, she would have come here a couple of months earlier, during the winter, if she wasn’t so busy back then, but that wasn’t to say she hasn’t been enjoying the wonderful sunny weather she was so lucky to get during her visit now. Tyvian spring months, as she heard, tended to be fickle.

Still toying with her tumbler, Emily looked at Daud, lazily and almost thoughtfully taking in his form as he stared at nothing in particular and, once in a while, idly drummed his fingers on the table.

“Lots of snow this winter?” Emily swung one leg over the other and asked, despite asking Corvo the same thing when she and Martha just arrived.

Daud blinked suddenly, as if the question pulled him out of some deep rumination. “Hm? Oh. Yeah, fairly average amount, I’d say.”

“Hmm.” Emily nodded as if she knew how much “average” was exactly. “Same as last year?”

“Last year there was a bit more.”

Once more, Emily nodded a couple of times, mostly to herself. “Must be nice.”

For a few moments, Daud was silent as he side-eyed her. “You know,” he then said with a dry, curt chuckle, “there’s no need to talk to me if you don’t want to.”

The words drew a scoff out of Emily. “And you’re rude, too!” she remarked more in amusement than anything else, and raised her glass to her alcohol-loosened lips, mostly in an attempt to hide the threat of a grin on them. “Is this how you wooed my father?”

The sound Daud made was something between another chuckle and choking. There was both teasing and caution in the narrowed-eyed look he gave her afterwards. “…I wouldn’t exactly say there was any wooing involved.”

Emily took a swig of whiskey as her eyebrow crept upwards. “Indeed? And how, pray tell, did it happen?”

She reached for the bottle, then added some more to Daud’s glass before doing the same with her own. When Daud stayed silent, she placed the bottle back and caught his eyes again. “I want to hear your version of the story.”

Now Daud took his turn in raising an eyebrow. His gesture was a bit careful, assessing. “Why...?”

“Humor me.” Emily bit down on her lip to at least try to contain the growing grin that was part amusement part anticipation, though with every passing minute she found herself caring less and less about her already nonexistent poise. Leaning forward, she placed both elbows firmly on the table. “When my father runs away with a secret lover, I should be, at the very least, a little curious about how this whole arrangement came to be in the first place, no?”

In her tipsy state she quite enjoyed the exaggeration. She also enjoyed the hint of awkwardness Daud seemed to be exhibiting on the subject.

“And as much as I may like to, it’s a little awkward to talk about this with Corvo, you have to understand.”

Daud gave a soft scoff and rubbed his temples, leaving his head propped on one of his hands. “Guess so.”

“So,” Emily drawled, tucking her interlocked fingers under her chin and squinting slightly like a contented cat in the sun. The booze was starting to kick in, which her tongue evidently sought to underscore with dramatic flourishes in her tone. “How does a deadly feud bloom into a dreamy romance?”

Daud snorted, then gave a small amused shake of his head and swirled the drink in his glass. Despite his outward nonchalantness, there was something soft and hazy in his eyes. Something, as Emily noted with an internal scoff of irony, dreamy.

*

He didn’t tell her much. She hadn’t really expected him to—not in great detail. 

But he said enough, and Emily found it much easier to envision this circumstance when she had similar accounts of both parties. Like a piece of a puzzle sliding into place, she supposed. 

Daud talked about Corvo with a sort of reverent affection. It was a bit difficult to make out, masked by a face of casualness, but hints and notes still gleamed through, in his tone, in his softening eyes. 

Emily was drunk and embracing it, allowing herself to try and look at Daud in a different light, the way Corvo had insisted. And she did see him like that. Kind. Loving.

Daud did not need many words to make that clear—and the ones he did choose served him well.

Perhaps, Emily absently thought, such things were easy to see if one was willing to accept their presence in the first place.

They were standing outside; Emily had come along to air out her head in the chilly night air while Daud was having a smoke. They stood there a while as Emily continued listening to him, his speech unhurried and quiet, as if he was careful not to disturb the tranquility of the nocturnal suburbs. She was enjoying the inky calm around them, the eerie yet lulling rustling of trees, black in silhouette against the clear night sky. The lights of other houses in the distance, spread out and yet together, a little community so unlike the city atmosphere so familiar to her. Emily wondered if Corvo and Daud knew their neighbors, if they were on friendly terms. If the people here knew who they were. If they visited each other sometimes, held gatherings and had dinners, exchanged housekeeping tricks and stories and news.

Emily thought back to all the times she encountered Daud. All three occasions were so wildly different, so drastically set apart by time and political incident and overall circumstance. This particular moment, this peacefulness, was making significant work in separating the then from the now.

Daud looked so… natural, like this. The visible mist of his breath. The cigarette‘s glow in the dark. The long warm coat. He appeared at ease, for once seemingly unbothered by expectation of Emily’s contempt and unguarded from scorn.

Rather than some caricature of a monster Emily’s held in her head for two decades, he seemed like a human being. Just a man trying to make do, content on this little edge of the world, not asking for much.

It was a bit concerning, of course, how quick that caricature was to crumble.

But by all accounts, as Emily understood it, it was Corvo who, for the most part, prompted the relationship and deemed it fine to go through with—as well as encouraged Daud to arrive at that same opinion. And so Emily discerned a sort of humility with which Daud spoke of their life together. There was no need for him to name outright the respect and fondness he felt for Corvo—his brevity was surprisingly expressive. And that, Emily felt, made it all seem more genuine.

It was definitely something to think about.

And the very fact that someone was speaking about Corvo in this way, in such a tone that showed a clear wish to see him happy, was tugging on something incredibly sensitive behind her sternum.

“You know this is all… pretty fucked up, right?” Emily muttered absently, when they’ve stood in comfortable silence for a time. She looked at the dark line of trees in the distance, and hoped that, at this point, her words wouldn’t be taken _too_ seriously.

To her relief, Daud chuckled softly. “Oh, trust me. I know.”

With just the corners of her mouth, Emily allowed herself to smile as well. 

She wondered when Corvo was getting back. He’s probably been catching up with Martha.

“Just because I’m being more or less friendly now,” a sober part of her brain supplied suddenly, “doesn’t mean I trust you.”

There was a moment of silence between them as Daud took another drag. Which cigarette was it—second, third? Emily wasn’t sure. “I wouldn’t even think it,” he quietly said after blowing out the smoke.

Emily nodded.

“And it doesn’t mean I approve of this,” she hurried to add after a minute. Like she needed to explain herself—and assure herself just the same. “I’m drunk. I’m more agreeable when I’m drunk.” Daud let out a quick, subtle exhale at that. “But.”

She tried to take a moment to collect her thoughts, pick the right words—but it wasn't much use, and she supposed she wouldn't be helping anything by fabricating what she was really trying to say.

“I want— I need Corvo to be happy. And for that, I need to accept you. Acknowledge you.” Words threatened to tangle in her throat and she took a deep breath to smooth the way for them. “So I will do that. I will try. And I may never truly agree with this, that I can’t promise—but I can, and I will, respect the fact that he loves you. That you love him. I… I can only really encourage that.”

Corvo deserved the world. Whatever it meant to him. He was carving out that world for himself with his bare hands and no one—especially not her, someone who needed to be there for him always—had a right to stand in his way.

For a long time, they were silent, and at first Emily almost didn’t notice how Daud’s breaths turned into quiet, gentle words.

“I could never ask that of you. So, sincerely, for what it’s worth—thank you.”

Emily could only nod.

Though after another minute of somber rumination, she arched an eyebrow. “I don’t think I need to tell you that your life will be miserable if you so much as look at him the wrong way, since Corvo will make sure of it long before I do.”

Another sharp breath from Daud indicated his restraint on a chuckle, and he cleared his throat. “Understood.”

He finished his cigarette, stubbed it out and went to toss it into the tin can serving as an outside ashtray resting on a brick by the side of the porch.

When they turned to head back into the house, Emily swayed on her feet slightly from the sudden movement and, narrowly missing a fall from stumbling over that same porch, quickly reached out to grab onto Daud’s arm for support.

He grunted in surprise, no doubt taking note of her worsened impairment, and held her by the waist. “Careful. There’s a ledge there.”

Emily let out an awkward laugh. “I see that.”

He looked her over quickly as he ushered her through the door. “How long has it been since you had an actual meal, anyway? You need dinner.”

“Oh, so you mean you didn’t notice how I ate your whole can of caviar?”

Daud chuckled as he helped her out of her coat and then pulled off his own before hanging them both by the door. “Don’t fret, we have more.”

That earned him a soft scoff, but Emily’s stomach piped up at the notion of food. “So you cook, too?”

Daud threw her an amused look over his shoulder as he made his way to the table in order to clear it. “Why wouldn’t I? It’s an essential skill.”

The slight but unwarranted tinge of embarrassment Emily masked (or so she hoped) with a curt huff. “Well,” she muttered quietly after, without even knowing why she was bringing this up, “I can’t really cook.”

“Well—not as essential for you, I suppose.”

No mockery of any kind in the words, no judgment. Just statement of fact. For some reason Emily felt some tiny speck of relief, and turned her attention back to shucking off her boots.

*

Emily woke up with a groaning back, numb forearms, and an incredibly dry mouth.

Something woke her—and it wasn’t just the uncomfortable way she was slumped over the table, though that clearly played a big part. She found the culprit when she peeled her sticky eyelids open, managing to focus her vision on Daud’s back just as he was leaving the room. Her head was woozy, she clearly hasn’t slept long enough for the alcohol to leave her blood, but she was aware enough of her surroundings to feel the familiar weight of her coat on her shoulders.

The lights were out, and it took a second for her eyes to adjust to the dark. Despite her complaining neck and arms wishing to be free from the weight of her own head, she stayed in place and blinked a cursory glance around the part of the room that entered her cone of vision from this position.

The couch fell into view. On the couch was Corvo, making use of the small pillow there and lying on his side with his arms loosely folded over his chest. Asleep, evidently.

He must have returned sometime after she conked out. A smile creeped onto Emily's face at seeing him back here, when she heard footsteps and hurried to close her eyes.

She took care to slow down her breathing to a measured, steady, sleep-like pace, and, when the sound of footsteps changed to that of low rustling, she risked a one-eyed peek.

With conscious movements, careful not to wake, Daud was draping a blanket over Corvo, covering him up to the shoulder and tucking it in just a little under the arms.

Then he leaned over, and pressed a kiss to Corvo’s forehead.

Emily almost forgot to shut her eyes again when he straightened back up. The smile was threatening to return and she did her best to keep her expression blank—not that Daud was staring intently at her face, and in the dark, to boot.

Still, as much as she may have wanted to, going back to sleep seemed out of the question with the painful stiffness of her body and her hyperawareness of Daud’s presence as he assumingely got to work on quietly clearing dinner’s remains off the table.

After a minute of utter discomfort, an involuntary yawn gave Emily away and, as well as she could currently manage, she tried to mask it as a sharp inhale of waking. She faked a befuddled return to awareness (which, in her half-drunken groggy state, came quite naturally and with little effort) as she raised her head off the table and finally, oh, finally, rolled her neck and shoulders with a soft groan of relief.

Daud was looking at her from his place by the sink. 

“Thought you’d wake up,” he uttered, voice so low Emily could barely hear him. “Take the bedroom, get some actual sleep.”

The bedroom? Did he mean their bed?

Emily rubbed her eye, failed to stifle another yawn and whispered, frowning with slight confusion, “Huh, what about y—”

“Not a discussion.” Daud turned back to whatever he was doing. “Good night.”

Emily figured it unwise to refuse or argue, especially in her current state. She nodded, stood up carefully so as not to sway, draped her coat over the back of the chair and, after throwing one more glance at Daud’s back and also Corvo on the couch, quietly left the room.

She didn’t turn on the bedroom light, didn’t undress, didn’t even look around in the first place; just fell down on the bed atop the covers and, passingly deciding to treat this as a long nap, fell fast asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Corvo: hey man is it cool if Emily comes over and yells at you for a bit  
> Daud: yeah sure  
> Corvo: k gr8
> 
> And credit to Bobbinredrobin for the sleeping corvo and forehead kiss, ty fam, finally some good fucking food


End file.
